


The One With The High School

by JRA3933



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, cause i can
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2019-08-07 08:31:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 67,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRA3933/pseuds/JRA3933
Summary: High school AU.Sansa and Sandor have entirely different lives. Different families, different places to call home, different ways of thinking. What would it take to drive these two together? As it turns out, not all that much.





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. Aspiring writer here. Working to try and improve my writing habits and style. Please critique!
> 
> I really should be working on another fic of mine, but this kept intruding, and wouldn't go away until I wrote it down. Not sure how long this'll be, I guess I'll just fly by the seat of my pants until I can figure it out. That's the most entertaining way!

Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine as Joff took her hand. It was good that he had. He would be the loving boyfriend today then, the boy who’d completely and utterly captured her heart. He still had her affection, and she his. She must, for him to take the time to be with her like this, in these little ways.

 

Joffrey was driving a little fast for comfort, taking the shiny new car tightly around the curves of the street. One hand was lightly atop the wheel, the other still twined around hers. Sansa clutched the edge of the leather seat with her free hand, under her thigh where he couldn’t see. Joffrey grinned over at her.

 

“See how she handles? It’s the best you can buy- not that you’d know that, you don’t know anything about cars, do you?” Sansa smiled, and shook her head. He really was in a fine mood today, no doubt about it. His sixteenth birthday had come over the weekend, and Sansa had been there when his father had presented him with the car. She had scarcely ever seen Joff smile so widely as when he’d slipped behind the wheel. Cersei had not been happy, her own gifts having been reduced to second fiddle behind her husband’s, but Joffrey hadn’t noticed. Or hadn’t cared, which was just as likely.

 

Sansa had been supposed to meet Joff later, discreetly in the gardens, after she was supposed to have gone home. She’d been halfway there, making quick work of the short walk between their houses, when he’d texted her. Robert would be taking him out in the car, ensuring that he could handle it properly. Her boyfriend had not even protested at his father’s assumption, in his text or now. Sansa rather thought he didn’t like to protest at any time his father spent with him; there was little enough of it.

 

He revved the engine now, laughing as Sansa jumped at the noise. It was a joyful sound, and part of her liked to hear it. Joff released her hand then, and cupped his own over her knee, just under the hem of her skirt. She quickly put her own back over his. There was still a ways to go before they reached the school. The wind was making a tangle of her hair, despite the tight braids she’d pulled it into. Sansa rather wished she’d known that Joff would be taking the top down. She’d have worn a thicker jacket.

 

As their speed increased, Joff’s words became steadily more inaudible, no matter how she strained her ears. Thankfully, a response did not seem to be needed for any of his statements. She nodded anyway, watching his face closely. Her phone vibrated in the bag on her lap, but Sansa didn’t reach for it. Joffrey didn’t like it when she looked at her phone, not when she was supposed to be listening to him. She shifted in her seat, wrist aching in memory.

 

The remainder of the ride to the school passed altogether uneventfully. Joffrey’s hand stayed on her knee, moving no further upward, and he continued to extol the virtues of his new car. They pulled into the Kingswood parking lot quickly, and Sansa caught her breath as Joff screeched to a stop in his chosen parking spot. She ought to have known that he’d want to make an entrance. He hopped over the side of the car rather than open the door, tugging his leather jacket straight, and smirking at her as Sansa chose to make a more traditional exit.

 

She smoothed her skirt, shouldering her leather bag as he approached. He ran a hand down her cheek, but his eyes were not on her. They were behind her, on what Sansa was sure was a group of his friends come to fawn over the car. Joff pressed a brief kiss to her lips, his own chapped and dry after their drive.

 

“I’ll see you later, yeah?” Summarily dismissed, Sansa nodded. Before she turned away, Joff looked her up and down, that smirk back on her face. “Clean yourself up a bit. You look a mess.”

 

Then he was leaning against the car, smiling broadly at the boy who smacked a hand to his shoulder, babbling excitedly as he gestured to the car. Sansa supposed her boyfriend thought he looked polished and grown up in those sunglasses, but Sansa rather thought they were too large for his face, leaving him looking like a small child attempting to play dress-up. She suppressed a smile as she entered the school.

 

Wending her way through the groups of students, Sansa slipped into the bathroom closest to the gym, the one she always met her friends in before class. Jeyne was already there, smiling a hello at Sansa as she applied her lip gloss. Sansa pushed her bag up on the shelf before the mirror. Peering at her reflection, she rather thought Joffrey’s last remark was unwarranted. Her hair was tangled, yes, but not too badly. She pulled a brush out of her bag, and let down her hair to work out the worst of the snarls.

 

“How’d it go? Did he drive like a madman again?”

 

Sansa grimaced at Jeyne. “Of course he did. Nothing’s _changed_ between now and yesterday, has it?”

 

Jeyne rolled her eyes at Sansa in the mirror, smacking her lips together as she did so. “I don’t know why you put up with so much from him. If it were me, I’d tell him to shape up. Shape up or ship out, right?” Jeyne smiled at her own words.

 

Sansa was grateful, yet again, that Jeyne’s father had been transferred down here at the beginning of the year along with her own, allowing her to continue on with her oldest friendship. They’d been close friends since they were small, when Dad had brought Jeyne and her father home to dinner one night. But still. There were some things she didn’t tell even Jeyne, though she suspected the other girl was beginning to guess some of it.

 

“He’s not _all_ bad.” She jostled her friend’s shoulder. Sansa’s hair was smooth again now, in silky waves halfway down her back. After a moment’s hesitation, Sansa left it that way. The color was set off by her sweater, and really looked rather nice. She’d been putting it up these past few months, in elaborate braids and buns in imitation of Cersei, Joffrey’s mother. Satisfied with her reflection, Sansa leaned back against the mirror, pulling her phone out of her bag to check her texts. There was only one unchecked, from her mother.

 

_Be safe._

 

Sansa smiled, a little crookedly. Joff had driven her yesterday too, and had deposited her at home a little too quickly for her mother’s liking. Catelyn Stark knew when all her children got out of school, and the timing in combination with Sansa’s wobbly knees had left her narrow eyed and suspicious. Sansa had insisted that they’d been careful, that Joffrey had just tried a shortcut, but she knew her mother hadn’t believed her.

 

She was just slipping her phone back into her bag, when Margaery burst in, all a whirl of skirts and hair. An elegant whirl. Sansa smiled at her, and Jeyne murmured a greeting with a smile gone a little tight and false. Jeyne had confessed herself a little intimidated by Margaery, and Sansa couldn’t blame her. Though she was in their year, Margaery always seemed far too put-together for a fifteen year old. Besides, she hadn’t made an effort to ingratiate herself with Jeyne as she had with Sansa. Not that she was cold, she just didn’t bother trying.

 

“Have you heard?” She flashed a grin at Sansa, opening her purse to pull out her makeup. Sansa often thought she only bothered coming in here in the mornings to gossip, the makeup being only an excuse. Margaery never looked anything less than flawless, her makeup already perfectly done.

 

“That depends. Heard what?” Sansa pulled her phone out again to check the time. She didn’t need to stop at her locker before class, not just for English. But still. They had only a few minutes. She stepped sideways, out of the way of an impatient older girl waiting to use the sink.

 

“About Loras?” Margaery was eyeing Sansa slyly, and she couldn’t help but blush. She’d met Margaery’s older brother only once, a few months back when he’d been visiting from college. She’d made an utter fool of herself, blushing and stuttering, despite the fact that she’d already begun to see Joffrey by that time.

 

She glanced at Jeyne, seeing the girl’s knowing smile. Damn the both of them. She should never have shown Jeyne Loras’s Facebook page.

 

“What about him?” She played aimlessly with her phone, feigning indifference.

 

“He has a new boyfriend. And you should know him, Sansa.”

 

“Really?” She looked up from her phone, dropping all pretense. “Who?”

 

“Renly Baratheon.” Sansa gaped at Margaery, mouth working for a moment before she found her voice.

 

“But he’s so- I mean, he’s a lot older than Loras, isn’t he?”

 

Margaery pursed her lips. “Not by _that_ much. Besides, Grandmother likes him. She says Loras could do alot worse.” She said it as though that were some deciding factor, which Sansa supposed it very well might be. Olenna Tyrell might be wrinkled and old, but she was very invested in the goings-on of her grandchildren. Almost too invested, in Sansa’s opinion.

 

The bell rang then, and Margaery scooped up her things again, and swished out the door with a “See you at lunch!” thrown over her shoulder, leaving Jeyne and Sansa to gather up their own things more sedately. Jeyne walked with Sansa, her own class being only a few doors down from Sansa’s own.

 

“Who’s Renly, again?”

 

Sansa tapped out a quick text to Joffrey as they walked. She rather hoped that he’d be giving her a ride home; she didn’t like taking the buses if she could help it, and Robb was no longer here to drive her.

 

“Joffrey’s father’s little brother.”

 

“Ah. That explains it.”

 

Sansa bid her friend goodbye, entering her classroom first. Yes, the Tyrell matriarch would be pleased if her grandson were seeing the mayor’s brother. They had high hopes for him, she knew. Margaery had confided that her other two brothers were in politics, like her father, and doing quite well. But Loras- _he_ was a football player. Sansa blushed to think of it, of the pictures she’d furtively looked at on her phone, and later showed Jeyne. He only played for his college now, but was already being scouted, according to his sister.

 

She slid into an empty seat safely in the middle of the room, thinking yet again that a private school ought to be able to afford better desks than these. Sansa bent her head over her phone, letting her hair fall into a curtain around her as she texted Margaery. It was only in this class that she had no friends. Acquaintances, yes, but no one she could really talk to.

 

She heard the thud of a bag being dropped, and the scraping of someone settling into the empty desk behind her and to the left. Her stomach curdled. It was _him_ , she just knew it.

 

Addam Frey was a big, portly boy, with an over-large sense of his own importance. He’d asked Sansa out shortly after her arrival at Kingswood, with the air of doing her a favor, being _nice_ to the new girl. She’d turned him down of course, but he’d kept at it until this past summer, when Sansa had begun to see Joffrey. He still made her uncomfortable though, walking far too close beside her when they left class. She’d tried to have Joffrey talk with him, but he’d just laughed. Jeyne had told her that he’d asked her out as well, not too long after he’d begin bothering Sansa. It was common knowledge that no one really liked him. No girls, anyway. But she still couldn't work out how to rid herself of his presence. She was rather grateful that this class was the only one she shared with him. Besides lunch, but he would never dare approach her with Margaery sitting next to her, and surrounded by other girls besides.

 

She wouldn’t look. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

 

Mrs. Martin was taking her time, finishing her coffee slowly before she took attendance. Biting her lip, Sansa shifted in her seat, and winced as a pen fell from it’s spot on her notebook, rolling slightly behind her. She twisted quickly, bending to capture it before it could roll any further. She caught a glimpse of the bag as she stretched to retrieve it. A torn canvas bag, with large sneakered feet resting beside it. Not Addam then.

 

She glanced up curiously as she sat back upright. She’d been living in King’s Landing for less than a year, true, but the school was not over-large. She thought she could recognize everyone in her class, and both bag and shoes looked unfamiliar.

 

The first thing she took in was the boy’s size. He was slouched behind the desk, the better to allow his knees the proper space. Truly, he looked more like a man than a teenage boy, though he had to be no more than a few months older than she if he was in this class. He might not be Addam, but he _was_ looking at her. He had longish dark hair, hanging nearly to his collar, and a heavily defined brow. Sansa found herself unexpectedly meeting his eyes- what she could see of them, under that hair.

 

She opened her mouth to say something- an introduction maybe, because whomever this boy may be, he was not a student that Sansa knew.

 

But then her shifted in his too-small desk, and the other side of his face came into view. She froze, the words- whatever they would’ve been- sticking in her throat. His eyes narrowed, lips twisting into something like a sneer. She muttered an apology, and whirled around to face the front, heart pounding. She bent her head over her phone again, trying to look as though she hadn’t just done something incredibly rude, when she heard a cleared throat.

 

Looking up, Sansa saw that Mrs. Martin had risen at last, and was looking meaningfully at her phone. Sansa slid it out of sight, into her sweater pocket. She swallowed, trying to calm herself. His face couldn’t have been _that_ bad. She’d just been surprised, that was all. Part of her wanted to sneak a second look, but she thought better of it. She’d been rude enough that first time.

 

Who the boy was would be solved quickly enough, as the teacher was beginning to take their attendance. Sure enough, Mrs. Martin glanced in the boy’s direction after calling only a few names.

 

“Sandor Clegane.” The boy made no reply, but he didn’t have to- he had already been marked down on the sheet as his name had been called. He was obvious enough as the new student. Sansa heard a spate of russling after the new and unfamiliar name had been announced. There were a few audible intakes of breath, and one loud gasp as Sansa imaged those few who had not noticed him thus far got a look at his face. She couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him. It was hard enough being a new student. His scars could hardly make anything easier for him.

 

There was no introduction to Sandor Clegane, not the way there had been when Sansa had arrived all those months ago. It had taken her off guard, and she’d blushed and stammered her way through it like a fool. Luckily, Margaery had been in that class, and had taken it upon herself to befriend Sansa, easing her into her own circle of friends. She rather thought no one would extend that courtesy to Sandor Clegane, not if he reacted to the looks he was getting in the same way he’d reacted to her. Sansa tried hard to concentrate on the teacher, but her monotone voice was washing over her. She’d already read this chapter, anyway. English was the one class she managed well enough in to take the advanced course.

 

Sansa’s mind wondered to Joffrey, who still hadn’t replied to her text. He was supposed to be taking her out this weekend, and she rather hoped she could turn it into a group outing. The last time they’d been alone, his hands had been wandering to places she’d rather he not touch. They’d been going out for nearly four months now, and he seemed to think it had been long enough. Sansa- Sansa didn’t. It shouldn’t be too hard to suggest they take a group. He’d been eager enough to show off his car this morning.

 

The lesson passed quickly, and soon enough Sansa was hurriedly gathering her things to her chest, shouldering her bag. The boy- Sandor- walked past just then, and she took the opportunity to take another look at him as he did so. The scars were just as shocking the second time around, and she sucked in a soft breath as she looked at them. She couldn’t imagine the horror that would have inflicted those. Surely some doctor or another could have _fixed_ them somehow, or at least made them less drastic.

 

It took a moment to realize that he had stopped moving, that he was staring right back at her. Sansa flinched as she met his eyes. They were hard, and the angry glare he was leveling at her felt almost like a physical punch. He turned abruptly, and left the classroom, Sansa still sitting at her desk.

 

She stared after him for a moment as the rest of the class filed out. Sansa jumped at the light touch on her shoulder, but it was only Rose. More Margaery’s friend than hers, but a welcome face to see at the moment.

 

“Do you know him?”

 

Sansa shook her head, fumbling the rest of her things into her bag, and rising to her feet. Rose linked an arm through hers. “I’ll walk you to your next class, if you like?” Her eyes were wide, and guileless.

 

Sansa smiled at her, and it was only a little forced. “Thanks, that’d be nice.” It was nice. Rose was nice, if a little fluttery and silly for Sansa’s liking. She let the other girl draw her out of the room, joining the flow of students in the hallway. She craned her neck to look for Jeyne, who she shared the next class with.

 

“Why did he look at you like that? It was like he really hated you.”

 

Sansa tightened her arm through Rose’s. “I don’t know.”

  
Why had he looked at her like that? She had been rude, yes, but not deserving of _that_ level of anger. It had taken her aback, the ferocity which had been leveled at her in one short look. What could she have possibly done, without even speaking with him, to deserve that?


	2. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody reading this- do me a favor? I'm having a hell of a time coming up with a name, and this one feels like a filler name until I can think of a better one. Thoughts?

It was only a school. Better than the one he’d left, but only a school. Sandor sat still in his car, feeling exposed and conspicuous surrounded by all the glossy new vehicles. He wished he’d thought to wash his own car. But no. He kicked himself for the thought- cleaning it wouldn’t make it newer, nor any less dented.

 

And why should he care what a bunch of rich pricks thought of it anyway?

 

He didn’t care. But he sat there anyway, alone in the car until the blonde boy next to the newest, shiniest car, finally tired of holding court and entered the school. With the lot finally empty, Sandor emerged, feeling scrubbed and raw. Dad had snickered at him this morning, when he’d been scrubbing his face at the sink. He hadn’t said anything. But he hadn't had to. No amount of scrubbing would wash away his scars, no more than a rinse with the hose could transform the rust bucket he called a car. At least Gregor had still been asleep.

 

Sandor squared his shoulders, bag in hand, and began walking towards the glass doors. The building was big, flowing, and intimidating. Old looking, with actual grounds. Gardens even. A far cry from the sorry patch of mud and grass that had passed for a football field where he’d been last year. Where maybe he should still be this year.

 

But that was stupid. He had as much right to be here as anybody. More right than some, maybe. He’d _earned_ his way here, rather than bought himself in. Passing the shiny black car the blonde kid had been drooling over, Sandor had to repress the urge to kick it. Hard. Scuff that shiny paint job some. The idiot had even left the top down, those pretty leather seats just begging to be torn into, Sandor’s pocket knife suddenly burning hot in his jacket.

 

But no. He couldn’t cause any trouble, not here. He’d met the principle yesterday, a big block of a man of a height with Sandor. Sandwiched between his welcome to the school and being handed his schedule, was a warning of their strict code of conduct. The message had been received- he would be watched. If Sandor were a trouble-maker, he’d be out as quickly as he’d arrived.

 

He paused before entering- even the name of the place, Kingswood High, sounded grand and pretentious. Small wonder he’d been laughed at when they’d discovered his plans. At least the old shit had signed the papers. It probably helped that he’d been drunk at the time. At least nobody from his old school would know- none of them had any reason to come up here. They’d notice he was gone. Sandor had made a bit of a name for himself there. They knew enough not to mess with him, and he was easy enough to spot and identify. But they’d probably figure he’d up and left. Not that anyone would really care.

 

The halls were nearly empty when he entered, and he picked up his pace. It wouldn’t be good to be late today. He’d be getting enough attention as it was. Nobody in the halls had paid him much attention, hurrying to their own classes as they were, but the classroom was a different story.

 

It was as new-looking as he remembered from the previous day, shiny plastic desks, new books, everything in place. Only today, there were people at those desks. And grouped by the door, talking. The talk quieted as Sandor entered. He looked past them, but he could still feel the stares, the looks. He was bigger than all of them. That was something

 

He took some small pleasure in walking towards the fat boy with the pathetic excuse for a mustache, the boy backing up a few paces as Sandor settled into the seat that the boy had been about to take. Sandor’s knees knocked painfully against the underside of the desk, but that was nothing new. They made all these desks too small. He listened to the fat boy stumble his way to the corner of the room, slightly gratified to realize that the desk he’d chosen was the furthest available from Sandor.

 

The final bell rang, and everyone took their seats, some glancing towards him. A few, staring down at their phones or scribbling hastily finished homework, hadn’t even looked up yet. Sandor slouched low in his desk, staring down at his shoes, at the bag resting against them. Everyone in here looked so- clean. New and shiny, just like those cars outside.

 

He looked at a girl in front of him, for something better to look at than the others looking at _him_. He was used to the looks, but that didn’t make them _good._ At least this girl hadn’t seemed to have noticed him yet. Her head was bowed over her phone, hair obscuring her face. But someone with hair that shiny had to be decent looking.

 

He watched her out of the corner of his eye, watched her hair rippling as she shifted in place. Took in the clean lines of her shape, under that thin sweater. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see her face. Just the back of her was enough of a distraction, a pleasant balm in all this discomfort.

 

Then, she fidgeted, twisting in place to chase after a dropped pen. Her eyes flickered to him as she sat up, and her face was as nice as the rest of her. Straight little nose, big blue eyes that looked too vivid to be real. He could tell the second she registered his scars. Her expression had changed from a polite little I-don’t-know-you smile to frozen shock. Sandor couldn’t help but glare at her as she stared, eyes wide as a child’s. She unfroze then, muttering some meaningless apology under her breath as she quickly turned away again, hair fanning out behind her.

 

He narrowed his eyes at the back of her head. Did she _have_ to have turned just then? All he had fucking wanted was to look at a pretty girl. That wasn’t asking too much.

 

It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Anyone who hadn’t already looked did once the stuffy-looking teacher in the long skirt had read his name out. The girl with the bright hair didn’t turn again, but he saw her shoulders hunch a bit over the back of her chair. Biting the inside of his cheek, Sandor tried to conjure up that feeling again, the calming feeling that watching her sit there, all unknowing, had brought. But it was no good.

 

He pulled out his copy of the book, and wondered if this would all have been easier if he’d arrived on the first day of school with the rest of them. Most likely not. It wasn’t very easy for him to blend in. Besides, he’d only become old enough to drive the car today. Legally, anyway. And he’d be damned if he was going to pay two weeks worth of cab fare. The principle had been accepting of that at least- he knew the buses didn’t go out that far- though he’d been quick to add that that was all the leniency Sandor could expect from him. He would have to do the classwork he’d be missing from home. It hadn’t bothered him- Hotah seemed the type to treat everyone that way, not just him.

 

The class was easier than he’d expected. He’d thought it would be more difficult in content, but it was mostly quicker moving, which was fine. And quieter, which was both better and disconcerting. It seemed to drag on forever, and pass all too quickly at the same time. Once they’d been dismissed, Sandor was quick to get to his feet, shouldering his bag. He noticed yet again that he was taller than anyone else here, could look down at all of them. He was moving towards the door, eager to get to the next class, get the staring over with, when the girl caught his eye again.

 

She wasn’t as blatant about it this time, looking up from under her eyelashes, but she was still looking at him. At _them_ , on his face. He look a deep breath. Walk away from it. Don’t say anything stupid. Then her eyes met his, widening, and he wanted to push her. _Something._ Show the stupid girl that there were worse things than an ugly face.

 

He tore his gaze away from her, and stormed out without giving the stuffy teacher any of the work he’d been supposed to. The people in the hallways got out of his way quickly enough. He slumped into a chair at his next class, not looking at anybody. He’d done so much to get here. Worked so fucking hard to be sitting in this stupid little desk. And now all he wanted was to get out, get away from the clean, chemical smell, and the teacher’s too blank faces when they looked at him. Away from all the rest of them, and their looking and whispering.

 

He felt the anger stir again when he thought about it. About her. He had only wanted to look.


	3. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Life has been feeling a bit like high school for me lately, so this fic has been pretty cathartic. It's good to remember than no matter how much it feels like it now, actually high school is SO much more petty.

“Well, _I_ heard it was burns. Big ones, like half his face big.”

 

“You tell us Sansa. _You’ve_ got the class with him.”

 

She scowled around at them all, crunching at a mouthful of baby carrot before making her reply. “Why don’t you tell us Margaery? You’ve got more classes with him than I do.”

 

“Yes, tell us Margie!”

 

“Is it _really_ that bad.”

 

 _Yes, tell us Margie._ The other girl’s voices were oddly grating on her ears today. Maybe it was just the topic. It was all they’d talked about for the past few days, Sandor Clegane and his face. Even Jeyne couldn’t seem to shut up about it.

 

“Well.” Margaery clicked her tongue against her teeth. “The scars are horrid, I’ve seen those.” Sansa never had any Math or Science classes with Margaery, the other girl had a much better head for it than Sansa had. She was in the advanced set. As was Clegane, apparently.

 

“How do you think he got them?” That was Jeyne this time, and Sansa leveled a narrow eyed stare at her friend. Who ignored it.

 

“I don’t know.” Margaery stole one of Sansa’s carrots with a sharp little grin, and she couldn’t help but laugh as she tried to slap the offending hand away. “He wouldn’t talk to me.”

 

“Oh Margie-” Sansa had sat up, agast. “You didn’t _ask_ him, did you?”

 

“Of course not. I just tried to talk to him. But he wouldn’t”

 

Sansa frowned. “What do you mean wouldn’t?”

 

The other girl shrugged. “I mean, I talked to him, but he wouldn’t say anything back.”

 

“Oh.” That was- unusual. Margaery was the prettiest girl in their year, and in Sansa’s opinion, the prettiest in the whole school. She didn’t usually have to _try_ to get boys to talk to her.

 

“So.” Margaery was nibbling on her carrot, that sharp smile returning. “How do you think it happened?”

 

“I don’t know.” The question hadn’t been aimed at Sansa really, more the table at large. But she felt irritated by it. Whatever it had been, it had been horrible. Did they have to _talk_ about it? Just the thought of it made her stomach writhe.

 

Jeyne grinned, licking her pudding spoon. “Glassblowing accident?”

 

“Showered too hot?”

 

“ _Gang_ initiation?”

 

“Oooh!” Margaery clapped her hands, grinning at Jeyne. “I like that one. Trial by fire.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes as they giggled, the ideas coming quicker and sillier. She knew her mood wasn’t their fault. She was glad Jeyne and Margaery were bonding, Jeyne needed some real friends here beyond just Sansa. Her period had started this morning, a twisting ache low in her belly. And she had tonight with Joffrey to look forward to.

 

Remembering, she leaned forwards.

 

“Anybody want to go out with me and Joff tonight? We’re taking his new car.”

 

Margaery sipped at her iced tea. “What are you doing? Who else is going?”

 

Sansa shrugged. “No definite plans. Just whatever we feel like. And no one, yet. He told me to ask some friends.”

 

Jeyne turned to look at her. “Sooo- he wants a car full of girls?”

 

“Yup.” That sounded like Joff.

 

Margaery patted at her lips with a paper napkin. “I'll go. And you'll come, won't you Jeyne?

 

“Of course!” The other girl was flushed, happy in her inclusion.

 

“Who else? I think Joff wanted a full car.”

 

“I'll ask Alla if she wants to come. She broke up with Jack, you know. It'll do her good to get out some.”

 

“Ok Margie.” Sanda liked Alla well enough, and she was pretty enough to satisfy Joffrey’s requirements for tonight’s outing. He would be pleased, she thought, that Margaery would be coming. The girl was one of the few people at their school that Sansa had seen Joffrey try to impress. It might have worried her a little, only Margaery never seemed very interested in Joffrey that way.

 

Rose was watching Sansa at Margaery’s side, a disappointed little crinkle on her forehead. Oh.

 

Sansa really should’ve asked her along, before Margaery had claimed the last seat for Alla. They had been getting to know each other so much better the past few days, as Rose had taken to sitting beside Sansa in her morning’s class, since Clegane and his scars had made such an impression on her. Not that he’d bothered her since- he didn’t even look at her and was always there already by the time Sansa entered with Rose, allowing the pair of them to sit well away from him.

 

She glanced over to where Margaery and Jeyne had started up again, Jeyne leaning over the table to see something on the other girl’s phone. It made her smile. Really, to see them now, you’d have thought they’d always been the best of friends.

 

“Rose?” Sansa met her hopeful eyes, a pretty teak color. “I’ve been meaning to ask- do you want to come over this weekend? My parents will be out with my brothers, so it’ll be just me and my little sister.” She made a face to show what she thought of that. She’d asked Jeyne, but her friend had had plans with her family.

 

Rose’s face broke out in a wide smile. “I’d love to.” Sansa couldn’t help but smile back. She was glad to have gotten to know the girl better, she’d never taken much notice of her before. Margaery always had a flock of girls around her, fluttering like butterflies, vying for her attention. Maybe all Rose had wanted was to be noticed. Sansa had certainly been grateful when Margaery, out of all the girls she could have befriended, had chosen to focus her attention on Sansa.

 

She put another carrot into her mouth, mood suddenly lighter.

 

The other two girls turned their attention back to the table at large, suppressing their giggles. Down the table, Elinor was still vivaciously chattering on about Clegane with the other girls.

 

“He’s on scholarship, you know. Genna saw him, he works with the janitors in the mornings.”

 

“Of course he does.” Margaery was flicking through her phone as she spoke, texting someone or another. “You saw what he wears. How else could he come here?”

 

Sansa glanced at Jeyne, watching the girl redden. Only Sansa knew that she was on partial scholarship herself, her family lacking the funds to finance her outright.

 

“It doesn’t really matter though, does it? Not for _that_ anyway. He must do better than I do in classes, or they wouldn't have him in your set, Margie.” The other girl didn’t miss a beat, not even looking up from her phone. “I know it doesn’t matter, not like that. It’s just- I bet he’s from the lower district. I heard one of the teachers say something about it.”

 

Sansa spooned yogurt into her mouth, thinking that over. Lower district wasn’t terrible, not Flea-bottom bad, but certainly less savory than King’s Landing’s two upper districts. But no. She wouldn’t waste time thinking about that boy, not when he’d looked at her so harshly. And for _nothing._ Besides. Mother always said that gossip was cruel, especially when it was focused on the less fortunate.

 

She let the talk wash over her, trying to ignore the gnawing pain in her gut.

  


\-----

  


“Who’s going again?”

 

Sansa twisted before the mirror, trying to see every angle. “I’ve told you Mum, it’s Margaery, Jeyne, and Margaery’s cousin Alla.” Should she wear the jeans? They were white, and if they got food to eat while they drove-

 

“And Joffrey will be driving.”

 

“Of course.” She glanced over at her mother, to where she was sitting on the edge of the bed. Satisfied with her wardrobe, Sansa moved to her jewelry box and earring tree. She wasn’t sure why she was trying so hard. Maybe because she felt she had to outshine the other girls tonight, ensure she kept Joffrey’s attention. Maybe just because it was the first time she’d properly gone out in a car, with friends her own age anyway.

 

Either way, she knew she wanted to look grown-up tonight. Sexy. She could see her mother in the mirror, sitting behind her, watching her. Sansa ignored her, selecting her earrings with care, and settling on only one thin bangle.

 

Mum didn’t move until Sansa had sat at her desk, tilting the little mirror up to her face to apply her makeup. Mother sighed then, and rose to come up behind her.

 

“Would you like me to do your hair?”

 

Sansa turned, smiling up at her. “Would you?” Sansa fancied herself a decent stylist, but Mother was much better than she.

 

“He’ll have the top down?”

 

“Yes, I think so.” It felt nice, the hands carding through her hair. Mum brushed it out again, though Sansa had done so herself only a moment ago. Sansa watched in the mirror as her hair was hefted, pushed this way and that until Mum hummed in satisfaction, reaching for the pins Sansa was holding out to her. A good amount of it was pulled up, and braided back over her head into an elegant knot on her crown, leaving the rest to swing free.

 

Sansa stood, and allowed her mother to turn her around by the shoulders. “You look beautiful. And Sansa-” The brief honk outside announced Joffrey’s arrival. She glanced at the window, gathering her purse up. A hand to her cheek brought her attention back to her mother’s face, to the small smile focused on her. “You know what I’m going to say.” Sansa nodded. She did. Be careful, be safe, call if you need anything.

 

Another beep sounded out, a bit impatiently, and Mother chuckled. “Be home by eleven?”

 

She nodded and pressed a quick kiss to Mother’s cheek. Turning, she ran out of the room and near flew down the stairs, pausing only to throw a quick goodbye over her shoulder to her father, sitting in the kitchen.

 

Sansa slowed to a slightly more sedate trot as she slipped out the front door, approaching Joff’s shiny car where it sat next to the curb, engine purring. She was a little put out to see the other girls already there. He had come for her last, with her living so close?

 

But her unhappiness dissolved when Joff hastened around the side of the car, and opened the door to the empty front seat for her. Warmth gathered in her chest, and for a moment, as she settled herself in her seat and he kissed her cheek before closing the door after her, Sansa wished they were alone. Then, they pulled away from the curb quickly, engine growling ever louder, and Sansa wondered if Mum was watching through the windows. But then Joffrey’s arm settled over her shoulders, and the girls in the back were laughing and squealing as the cool air whipped around them, and everything was perfect.

  


\------

  


This was _not_ what she had expected. She stared at the bottle as the others passed it around, the clear liquid inside sloshing a little as it passed from hand to hand. Joffrey had pulled it from under his seat almost triumphantly, grinning that satisfied grin he wore when he thought he was being clever. Sansa had protested, along with the other girls, but _they_ at least must not have meant it, because here they were drinking along with Joffrey. Nobody seemed to notice Sansa’s disapproval radiating from her seat up front.

 

She had drunk before of course, sneaking glasses of her father’s brandy, or of Mum’s wine with Jeyne. The last time she’d been over at Margaery’s house, they’d been alone, and Margaery had fixed the pair of them proper drinks at the basement bar, just like in a movie. But they weren't at a house, just a little park with broken benches. And Joffrey was drinking as much as anyone, outstriped perhaps only by Alla.

 

“You haven't had any.” She was stirred from her thoughts by the bottle, now about a quarter empty, thrust under her nose. They were all _looking_ at her.

 

“Oh. I don’t really-”

 

“Yes you do,” Jeyne broke in. “I know you do. Go on Sansa, we’ve all had some.”  She looked flushed, and exited from where she sat ensconced between the other two in the backseat. Like Sansa, she too had taken special care with her clothing and makeup. She looked pretty, and somehow older than she usually did.

 

“It’ll be more fun if we all do.” Alla had her head on Jeyne’s shoulder, her river of black hair flowing against Jeyne’s chestnut.

 

She looked down at the bottle. A sip couldn’t hurt, surely. She coughed as it went down, rougher on her throat than Father’s brandy usually was.

 

“That was hardly anything.” Joff was pouting at her, but he took the bottle when she passed it to him. His eyes, as he took his own sip and passed the bottle on to Margaery, were fixed on her chest, on the exposed flesh under her jacket. Sansa had to suppress the urge to close the jacket, to cover herself. This was what she’d wanted wasn’t it? For him to look? The little lace-trimmed camisole was something she usually wore as an undershirt.

 

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Even with the jacket, she felt the chill as the sun went down. Joff’s hand rubbed over her thigh as though to warm her, higher up than she liked, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was laughing with Jeyne over something or other, face pink and eyes streaming over some joke Sansa had not heard.

 

She shook her head as the bottle was offered to her once more.

 

“Come _on_ Sansa. Loosen up a little, why don't you?”

 

“I will.” She took another sip, nearly a swig, as though to prove it. She didn’t cough this time, but her eyes watered as she brought the bottle down. “Only, I think we should go somewhere else first. We can get some food maybe.”

 

There was a burger place closer to home. If she suggested that, maybe they could all walk home after, and leave the car in the lot.

 

“You’re right!” Joff spun back around in his seat, facing the proper way now, and starting the car. “Let’s get out of this stupid little park.”

 

Sansa yelped and scrambled for the seatbelt, hearing gasps from the back seat as Joffrey drove fast through the little lot, tires screeching as he turned onto the main road. The honk of a horn blared, sounding as though it were right in her ear. She jumped, but Joffrey only laughed, raising his middle finger almost lazily in the air. Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding fast.

 

“Joff!”

 

Her eyes popped open again at Margaery’s exclamation.

 

“That was a stop sign!”

 

“So?” He was grinning, one arm draped over Sansa’s shoulders again, the other gripping the top of the wheel. The stores to the side were passing in a blur, and Sansa saw the red glow approaching.

 

“Stop!”

 

She barely heard her own words, ripped from her as they were by the wind.

 

She tried again, frantic as they approached. “Stop, Stop! I’ll get out, I swear I will.”

 

She was jolted forwards then, hands slapping the dashboard as the car screeched to a halt. Sansa panted, looking up with wide eyes at the red light. She breathed out, deep, watching the traffic streaming across the intersection.

 

Then, she became aware of Joffrey’s hand. Sometime in their abrupt stop, it had moved from Sansa’s shoulder to the nape of her neck, and his grip was not gentle.

 

“What. Did you say?”

 

Sansa swallowed, and turned to face him, eyes flickering to the rearview mirror as she did so. The three in the back were pale, ashen-faced. When she finally laid her eyes on Joffrey, she felt cold wash all through her. He was looking at her, jaw set. The hand on the back of her neck tightened.

 

“I asked what you said.”

 

His voice was level, calm, but his nails were biting into her skin.

 

“I said- I said I’ll get out. If you didn’t stop.”

 

He just looked at her, and she hurriedly continued on. “We can take the bus home, or something.” She had her emergency credit card; she could pay for cab fare for all of them if need be. She’d have them drop her off at the corner; she could tell Mum she’d walked from Joffrey’s.

 

He leaned over her, and for a moment she flinched away, but he only opened the door. “Go on then. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” The light had turned green, but he was ignoring that. Sansa glanced at her friends in the back, but they only looked back at her with wide eyes.

 

_He doesn’t mean it. He’s trying to scare me._

 

She stumbled a little as she exited the car, phone in one sweaty hand, purse in the other. Her boot heels clicked on the asphalt. The door swung closed behind her as Joff hit the gas at last, accelerating through the now yellow light.

 

_He doesn’t mean it. He’ll come back._

 

But the taillights were dwindling in the distance.


	4. Sandor

“D’you mind closing up?  Mychel’s going to pick me up in five. ”

 

Mya was putting on her lipstick, smacking her lips the way girls did when they did that.

 

“Sure.” It was only his second day working here, but the job was simple enough. No one was likely to come in now anyway, they closed in a little more than half an hour. “Got a date or something?”

 

She grinned at him. “Bet your ass, I do.”

 

Sandor liked Mya. He’d had a bit of a thing for her, when he’d seen her around school last year. Not that he’d ever spoken to her before getting the job at Ed’s place, but she was pretty. Tough looking, but pretty in a way that the tough girls almost never were. And she was nice too, acting like his scars didn’t even exist, like they didn’t matter to her. She talked to him like she’d talk to anybody.

 

It was almost a shame she was with that guy,  Mychel. But it wasn’t like he’d do anything about it, even if she left him. But if was ever going to ask  _ any _ girl out, it would be her. Sandor eyed her as she fussed with her makeup, looking at herself in a little round mirror as she perched on the stool behind the register.

 

He was supposed to be restocking the screws, really, but he’d done that an hour ago. He knew Ed watched the cameras sometimes, so he liked to  _ look _ busy, even if he wasn’t really. Fiddling with the different drawers and boxes, Sandor watched Mya instead.

 

It was a good view. He liked the rings in her nose, in the tops of her ears. Made a man wonder where else she might be pierced. Her hair, short as a boys, was gelled near straight up, and he wondered if it would be hard to the touch.

 

“Do I pass inspection?”

 

Sandor jumped, and realized that she was grinning at him. He didn’t answer, just went to get the broom. Mya was laughing as the bell rang, signalling that the door had opened.

 

“Can I help you? Only it’ll have to be quick, we’re closing soon.” There were traces of laughter still in her voice, and Sandor shook his head. Most girls who talked to him just wanted to prove they were brave, that they weren’t afraid of him. Mya  _ had _ to know what they said about him. It wasn’t as though it were lies. Maybe she just didn’t care, girl like her. Or maybe he seemed less dangerous to her now. She knew he went to the fancy school. He’d told Ed when he’d asked about the job, Ed who seemingly couldn’t keep his mouth shut about  _ anything _ .

 

“Please- do you have a phone I can borrow? Mine’s dead.” The voice was young, feminine, a little unsteady.

 

“I was just heading out. Sandor!”

 

He rolled his eyes. One of the appealing aspects of this job was that he didn’t have to talk to anyone if he didn’t want. Mya worked the register, dealing with any customers. She’d worked here for almost two years now, and knew everything anyone could think to ask. Sandor stocked the shelves, found what was needed, and lugged the bigger purchases out to waiting cars. Ed was talking about training Sandor properly on the register, so he could run the place alone if he had to. But he hoped it never happened.

 

He reluctantly made his way to the front, holding the broom loosely in one hand. The floor didn’t really need to be swept, but it was something to do. Mya came back into view between all the shelves, and the girl across from her-

 

The girl’s pretty eyes widened as Sandor came into view, and he felt his own narrow. Her hair was pulled up, away from her face this time. There was a long moment where she stared at him, and he gripped the broom’s wooden handle. Then, he dug his phone out of his pocket, and held it out to her wordlessly. Just as wordlessly, she took it, then backed away to make her call. Mya hopped down from her stool, slipping her jacket on over her shoulders.

 

“Posh looking, isn’t she? You know her?” She zipped up as she murmured to Sandor, and he shook his head, gritting his teeth. 

 

“Not really. Some girl at the school.”

 

“Ah. Good luck.” And she was gone, door swinging shut behind her. The girl’s eyes flickered to him as the door closed, phone held tight to her ear. Those eyes followed him, wary as he moved behind the register, ignoring Mya’s abandoned seat to lean against the wall.

 

The girls eyes left him then. “Dad? It’s Sansa. No, I’m OK.”

 

Sandor glanced up, then sat on the counter, right underneath the camera, where it couldn’t see him. He studied the girl as she spoke on the phone. Sansa. A stupid name for a stupid girl. What was she doing down here, anyway? Mya was right, she didn’t look as though she fit here. Her little pink jacket looked like it was worth more than Sandor’s car, though that wasn’t saying much.

 

With her gaze averted, Sandor allowed himself to look at the front of her, at the pale strip of skin above her jeans, almost indistinguishable from the white fabric. At her breasts, showing overtop of her low cut top. She was wearing makeup, running slightly at the corner of her eye as she spoke on the phone, voice wobbling. The strap of her little pink purse was gold, made to look like a chain. A date gone bad, maybe? The thought made Sandor smirk, somehow.

 

Some date, to have brought a girl like that here. It was a decent street, by Sandor’s standards, but again, that wasn’t saying much. Ed actually gave a real paycheck, not just cash. That was good- he didn’t want any money lying around, not at home. A few blocks down now, that was where it got rough. Where a pretty girl like that, walking alone, would lose that purse and more after dark. Maybe in daylight too.

 

“I don’t know,” The girl was still talking into the phone, near sobbing now. The makeup at the corner of her eye was making a steady path down her cheek, leaving a dark trail behind. “I borrowed a phone, I’m in-” She broke off, eyes going to the glass window, trying to read the lettering on the other side backwards.

 

“Ed’s Hardware.”

 

Her eyes snapped back to him. “Corner of Crystal and Brown Street.”

 

She relayed the information. “How long- they said they’re closing soon.” She bit her lip, looking at the ground as she listened. “Alright. I’ll be here.” She closed the phone, handing it back to Sandor, eyes fixed somewhere around his collarbone.

 

“He said- said someone will be here soon.”

 

He shifted as he took it back, deliberately letting his hand brush hers, watching her jump. It was his fucking phone she’d just borrowed. Least she could do was  _ look  _ at him. This close he could see that her fluffy-looking earrings were little white feathers, delicate looking where they hung from her ears.

 

She moved back away again, hands fluttering to her jacket hem, to her purse. He watched her where he stood against the wall, enjoying the way it made her fidget where she stood, although she still wouldn’t meet his eye. 

 

A few minutes ticked by before she spoke. “Do you have a charger I can borrow? If- if it’ll fit?” She was pulling out her own phone, eyes downcast. 

 

“It’ll fit, little bird.”

 

Sandor didn’t know what made him say it, only he’d wanted her to at least look up at him. She did, those blue eyes flashing to his face, looking surprised and a little scandalized by the pet name. It was almost enough to make him laugh, but he didn’t. Just held out the end of the charger to her, and watched as she inserted it into her phone. He made no move to step back. It eased him to see her uncomfortable so close to him, less than an arm’s length away. Sandor was suddenly glad she’d chosen to come in here. The school was one thing, but here, this district, this was  _ his _ place, and she was the interloper here.

 

She stepped a little away with the task complete, watching the phone light up with a charging signal. She glanced up again, at his face this time, but her eyes were looking somewhere at his chin.

 

“Does the store have a bathroom?” She was running her fingers through what hair was loose, trying to rub at the dark smudges under her eyes and on her cheeks. Sandor felt his lip curl.

 

“No.”

 

Her eyes were downcast again, and he felt some satisfaction before he noticed how she was twitching. He watched her squirm for a moment, pressing her thighs tightly together, before he relented. “There’s an employee one in the back.” He pointed, and she hurriedly made her way over.

 

No need to follow- the backroom was locked. With the front of the store quiet, Sandor leaned over to see her phone. Shiny. New. The latest model, probably. Fucking breakable too. His might not be as fancy as hers, but it had worked for damn near four years now, and still did everything it was supposed to do. It had been the first thing he’d ever bought with his own money; or the first substantial thing anyway.

 

He grimaced at hers. Everyone in that school had phones like this. Brand new, and if anything happened Mommy would just go and buy them a new one. He blew a breath out, hard through his nose. A girl like that probably never worked for anything, not ever. Probably never would. She was pretty enough to marry some rich prick and go on doing nothing, drinking champagne and popping out brats for him.

 

It took quite some time, but the girl returned, face freshly clean, just as Sandor saw the lights. Cop’s lights, right up to the curb in front of the store. The girl snatched up her purse, and disengaged her phone, hurrying to the door. Sandor snorted. Of course Daddy had sent police to find her.

 

She hesitated, turning at the noise. “Thank you.”

 

Then she was gone, trotting over to the car, and ducking inside. It pulled away, and Sandor was alone. He stared blankly at the dark street outside, before shaking his head, rubbing a hand hard across his forehead. Thank you, as though a few of those would make him forget her fear of him. Of his face, his scars. She likely didn’t even know his name, let alone his reputation. But of course the bloody scars were usually enough. 

 

No. Just, no. He had enough to think about without the little princess invading his thoughts too. He’d started a few minutes late, but he finished closing quickly enough. The cash was counted, recorded, and safely hidden under the box of nails on the dustiest shelf, for Ed to find in the morning. The metal cage was pulled down over the storefront, lights turned off, doors locked behind him. 

 

He walked through the little employee lot, glancing at the black shape of his own car. He’s asked Ed just this afternoon if he could leave it in the lot at night. The thin man had just shrugged, saying he didn’t care one way or the other. Even if he had, Sandor thought he might have let him anyway. Though neither of them had brought it up, he knew that part of his appeal as an employee was protection. Even those who had never heard of the Hound might think twice if they saw him in there, not just Mya. Would be good for Ed to keep him happy.

 

It was good, anyway, that the car was there instead of at home. The week after he’d bought it, Dad had taken it out. Damn near broke the bumper off, but at least he’d brought it back, although that hadn’t been for Sandor’s benefit. It hadn’t mattered that he hadn’t had the keys; Pat Clegane could start a car with almost nothing.

 

The job at Ed’s was good for that, and for expanding what little finances Sandor had. There was almost nothing left, after the car. And he’d done it properly, gotten insurance and everything. There would be bills, undoubtedly, if he was to keep the thing running. And of course he wanted money too. To save up for- something.

 

It was a few miles home, but the weather was still mild this time of year. It wouldn’t be for long though. That would be hard, and not just the walk home. He’d have to sleep in the house again, and he didn’t like doing that if he could help it. Maybe he could rig an extension cord or something, get a space heater. Last winter had been shitty enough, with just Dad home. But Gregor was out of jail now.

 

The gate creaked when he let himself into the yard, swerving around all the crap Dad collected, until he reached the shed. He let himself in quietly, and closed the door behind him. It took some groping the the dark, but he remembered where the lantern was, and it illuminated the small space when he found it. A cursory check revealed everything as he’d left it, though he’d expected that. Dad had used to come in when Sandor was out, poking around for money, but he’d since learned that Sandor never left any in there.

 

The padlock sealed the door with a satisfying click, and it was enough for him to relax, to kick his boots off, to change into some sweats.

 

The peanut butter was where he’d left it, next to his blankets with the bread. He ate the rest of the loaf hungrily, smearing peanut butter on it with his pocket knife. They fed him at that school, that came along with the scholarship, but it was never  _ enough _ . He wasn’t satisfied after he was finished, licking his fingers clean, but he wasn’t hungry anymore either. There was a pack of ramen somewhere, and that battery hot plate, but he didn’t feel like getting the water now. Besides, it might have to last ‘till the weekend, when he’d have the time to get more. With a paycheck from Ed coming in next week, maybe he’d get extra.

 

Sandor reclined back along his bed, a lawn chair that wasn’t quite long enough for him. The old cushions were padded with most of his blankets now, but they’d join the quilt in covering him when it got colder.

 

He pushed the pillow into a more satisfying shape, and crossed his arms behind his head, scowling at the shadowed ceiling.  _ Why _ did her face keep swimming back into his mind’s eye? Sure, it was a pretty face, but there were plenty of pretty faces at that school. And most of  _ them _ wouldn’t look at him either. 

 

At least this time she’d looked him in the eye, though it was the sort of look you gave when you were trying not to look at something else. What had she been doing there, anyway? She hadn’t said, not to him and not on the phone. Girls like Mya could look out for themselves. It had been what made him notice her last year. She’d been walking in the hall when some guy had slapped her ass, as far as Sandor could tell, just to prove he could. Mya had shot out a hand, and squeezed the kid’s balls ‘till he fell to his knees. The little shit hadn’t touched her again, not after that. This girl though- if she were afraid to even look at him, she had no business being out at night, not in a place like that.

 

He snorted, throwing an arm over his eyes. Why did it matter anyway? She was just some girl. Just some stupid girl. What made her so fucking special?

 

Then, he opened his eyes. A thought had come to him then, so simple and obvious that he didn’t understand why he hadn’t realized before. 

 

He hadn’t cum, not in days. He’d been going to sleep quickly; and there’d been no time in the morning’s either, not if he was going to drive all the way to school in time. Well, that was easy enough to fix. He smirked at the thought of her, in her little police car, riding home to Mommy and Daddy. She wouldn’t know. And even if she did, she couldn’t stop him.

 

Sandor dipped a hand into the waist of his sweats, drawing himself out into the open air. He’d got hard just from that touch. That was it then, it had to be. The cream was in its place under the pillow, like it always was, and he took a generous handful. He ran his hand down himself, trying to draw the image of her more clearly in his mind's eye. That red, red hair, the blue eyes. And those legs, thin, but long for a girl, in those tight jeans. And underneath-

 

Sandor opened his eyes and frowned. When he’d tried to bring the picture up, it wouldn’t come. That had never happened before. He’d been picturing what was under Mya’s leggings for ages, that had been easy enough. But the fucking pictures wouldn’t come, no matter how hard he tried. His cock was still hard as iron under his fingers, and he stroked it, frustrated.

 

Maybe he should just think about Mya.  _ That _ always worked. But when he tried, black hair kept lengthening, brightening. Her face kept coming back.

 

Fuck it. It was what he wanted, would get her out of his head. Turning over on the chair, he braced an arm along the cushions, holding himself up some, and thrust forward with a satisfied snarl. Fucking roughly into his fist, Sandor screwed his eyes shut, and  _ thought.  _ Her face came back, and that hair. What would it be like to get a fist into it, drawing her head back for him? The tops of her breasts, what had been revealed by her top, had looked so fucking soft.

 

From his vantage, when she’d come close to take the charger, he’d gotten a glimpse down that top, had seen the edges of the white bra beneath, had seen the little bow between her tits.

 

And the look on her face, when he’d called her-

 

He groaned, shuddering as his pleasure came on him, fast and hard. He stroked himself through it, and allowed himself to lie still afterwards, panting into the pillow. It felt good pressed hard against his face, cool on his hot cheek. He rolled over, feeling the cool air on his softening flesh.

 

There. Gone. Out of his system. He wiped a hand on the blanket, then heaved himself up to clean up more thoroughly. He was sticky, and grubby feeling, but he had no desire to enter the house for a shower. Maybe he would go in early tomorrow, use the showers in the locker room before the janitors expected him. He’d done it before.

 

Settling back on the blankets, Sandor drew the quilt up over himself, satisfied and spent. What would the little princess think, if she knew what he’d just done? At any other school, he’d have told her, just to find out. He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Thoughts on the ending? I'm not very good on writing that stuff, and wouldn't have included it, but it just insisted on happening. Chapter didn't feel complete without it. I've stayed up pretty late tonight. If i read it tomorrow and hate it, I might cut it down some.


	5. Sansa

Sansa was trying hard not to cry as she stared blankly out the window, at the lights flicking past them.

 

How could he have done it? Just _left_ her there?

 

“Come on princess. You’re alright now.” Bronn didn’t look at her as he spoke, and his voice had a slight mocking edge. But it always did, at least always that she had heard. And she’d heard it more often than she liked. Bronn never stayed for dinner, not the way Dad’s other officers did, but he came over a lot, late at night, and the two of them would be drinking beers and talking in Dad’s study.

 

“You didn’t have to come, really.”

 

“Oh, but I did. When your boss asks for a favor, you do it, don’t you?”

 

Sansa looked out the window again. She’d rather it had been any of the other officers. Officer Swan, Officer Oakheart- _any_ of them. Even Officer Blount, who treated her like a small child. Bronn had a way of talking that left Sansa unsure whether or not she were being teased when he spoke to her. And she did not want to be made mock of tonight.

 

A few minutes of the drive passed in silence before Bronn- Officer Blackwater really, but he always chuckled when she called him that- spoke again.

 

“You can tell me, you know. If you’d rather not tell your Father. But you’ll be telling somebody tonight, no doubt about that.”

 

He’d pulled into the drive through of a coffee place. “What d’you want?”

 

Sansa wrinkled her nose, and shook her head. She did not like coffee much in the best of times, and she didn’t want to be drinking it so late. Oh gods, there was school in the morning. She’d see all of them, Margie, Jeyne, _Joffrey-_

 

“Come on. You have to have something. Hot chocolate maybe?”

 

“Fine. Hot chocolate.” She was distracted as she spoke, starting her phone up again. The charge was still low, but there was enough to turn it on at least. “But why do I need it?”

 

“Get some of that smell off your breath before you get home.”

 

She looked up, horror creeping into her stomach. He’d noticed? She hadn’t had that much, only a few sips.

 

He held up a hand, palm up at the look that must be on her face. “It’s not that bad. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here. It just might make things easier, when you get home.”

 

“Oh- thank you.”

 

He bought their drinks- hot chocolate for Sansa, and a black coffee for himself. Afterwards, he drove around the building, pulling up into an empty space in the lot.

 

“Shouldn’t we be going?” Sansa tried a sip of her hot chocolate, and winced at the heat. Surely her parents had wanted Sansa driven straight home.

 

“Just a moment. They won’t notice. You wouldn’t believe how slow traffic gets around cops when the lights are off.” He had the steaming paper cup in his hand, but he had yet to raise it to his lips. “Listen, Sansa. You’re a good kid. I hear your dad talk about you enough to know that. But even good kids mess around some, get into scraps with their friends. That’s fine. But whatever trouble you make with your friends, boyfriend, whatever- don’t go further into the district than you just were.”

 

Sansa stared at him. What did he mean? Surely King’s Landing couldn’t be that bad there. It wasn’t as though they’d been anywhere near Flea Bottom.

 

“You’re alright in the lower district ‘till maybe a little further than where you were- so long as you go in daylight, have a couple of friends with you maybe. But further than that, there’s trouble.” He shifted in his seat to face her fully. “I mean it, Princess. No city is safe all over, and King’s Landing is pretty damn far from the safest city around.” His face was more serious than Sansa had ever seen it. She must be seeing Officer Blackwater now, instead of just Bronn.

 

“Ok.” He kept looking at her, raising an eyebrow. “Ok, I won’t ever go further in.” She hadn’t meant to be as far in as she was. That park had been scraggly looking, the benches covered with graffiti. Sansa sipped carefully at the scalding drink as Bronn pulled out of the lot, mindful of what he’d been able to smell on her breath. And suddenly she wanted the whole night over with. “You’ll tell Dad? If I tell you?”

 

“I will.” He kept his eyes on the road as she spoke, and Sansa was glad for it. She was a little ashamed at how few words she had to use to explain the situation. Joffrey was drunk, the others too. She’d made her threat, and he had doubled down on it. Her voice wobbled a little at that last. She still couldn’t quite believe that he’d done that.

 

She lapsed into silence as they turned into her neighborhood, the man at the gate waving them through without checking- perks of being a police officer, Sansa supposed. Her stomach was heavy at the thought of facing her parents, even if she didn’t have to repeat the story.

 

“Ah.”

 

She looked up at Bronn’s soft exclamation, and gasped. Joffrey’s car, the beautiful black car, was half on the sidewalk, hood crumpled around a lamppost. Sansa sat high in her seat, craning her neck to see, but no one was in there. The scene looked utterly abandoned.

 

“Don’t worry. Airbags didn’t even go off, they can’t have been going all that fast.” Bronn sighed again. “Looks like I’ll be paying a visit to our mayor tonight as well.”

 

“You can’t!”

 

“I can. I have to. Won’t mention you, if you like. Someone could’ve called it in when they heard the crash- someone probably did. I was in lower district tonight, it’s why your dad called me. I might’ve seen him driving that thing. Mayor’s son is hard to miss.”

 

Sansa eased back against her seat. That was alright then. She could tell the others she’d taken a cab home, they didn’t need to know that she had told all. Remembering suddenly, she scrambled for her phone, but there were no texts from any of the girls. Joff though-

 

She swallowed past the hard lump in her throat when she saw the beginnings of his text, and she shoved her phone back into her bag. Later. When she was alone.

 

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears. She felt the car turn, then come to a stop. She sat still in the seat for a moment, unwilling to move, to open the door. Then she heard the sound of her name being called, and she sighed. Upon opening the door she was engulfed in familiar arms, first embracing, then marching her towards the door.

 

The brightness of the kitchen made her blink hard, and suddenly she was facing her mother, who pressed her down to sit at the little kitchen table.

 

“Well?” Her voice was demanding, hard.

 

Sansa blinked. “Well what, Mum?”

 

“Are you going to explain yourself? You need to be brought back from _Crystal Street_? In the middle of the night?”

 

“It’s not eleven yet.” The words had come out unthinkingly, and Sansa winced upon hearing them.

 

“Sansa. That is _not_ the point, and you know it. Jeyne comes here, drunk no less, and won’t tell us why she wasn’t with you-”

 

“Jeyne’s here? Is she alright?”

 

Mum stared at her, eyes widening. “She was here, yes. But her mother came to take her home. Why shouldn’t she be alright?”

 

Sansa looked down at her feet for a long moment, before sending a pleading glance at Bronn. He’d followed them in, and was leaning against the wall by the door. As always, his uniform looked somehow rumpled, though it wasn’t really, and more casual than it ought to. He was watching the proceedings with an air of polite interest.

 

A cool palm gently turned her face back to look at her mother. The harshness had all but faded from her mother’s eyes, leaving only worry behind. “Sansa?”

 

“Cat.” Dad had been standing beside Bronn, quiet in his own kitchen. Sansa felt a slight surge of guilt as she saw him, dressed for bed in his soft pant and old tee-shirt. He’d been working since the small hours of the morning, she knew, and had gotten home only an hour or so before

Sansa had left on her excursion. He would have gotten out of bed for this.

 

“I think we should talk to Bronn first.” His voice was measured, as even as it ever was. Mum glanced at Sansa again, before nodding with her lips pulled tight.

 

“Wait here, Sansa.” As he moved past her, he bent to give her a brief hug where she sat, and for a moment she let herself press her face into his shoulder. The three of them had begun to walk further into the house, towards the sitting room, when Sansa spoke up.

 

“Could- could I change please?” Although she’d buttoned her jacket to the top once she’d climbed into Bronn’s car, she could feel the skin of her cleavage pressing against the leather. It left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, despite that she was covered from throat to heels.

 

“Allright. But come right down here after, and wait for us.”

 

She walked slowly up the stairs, dragging her feet. The doorways lining the hall were all closed, though she could hear faint music issuing from under Arya’s door, that angry-sounding Dothraki stuff she liked. Mother must’ve sent everyone to their rooms, to ensure they could talk to Sansa alone.

 

Her room was just the way she’d left it, discarded outfits thrown over the back of the end of her bed, makeup scattered haphazardly on the desktop. The door closing behind her made a solid sounding thump, loud in the silence. She had almost forgotten the paper cup in her hand, still full of hot liquid. Sansa put it on the bedside table. She sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off her flats. Joff didn’t like it when she was taller than him.

 

At the thought of Joffrey, tears threatened again, and she screwed her eyes shut. But the tears came out anyway, making warm trails down her cheeks. Scrubbing her hands over her face, Sansa sat at the desk to remove her makeup, a little clumily through the pearly sheen that obscured her vision. The earrings came off then, and her bracelet. Peeling off her clothes, she stared down at her underwear. It was the prettiest she owned, and even looked as though they were a set, although she’d gotten them separately.

 

All she’d wanted was for tonight to be perfect.

 

She emptied the contents of her purse atop her dresser, and looked at her phone again. It couldn’t be what she thought. He was just angry, that was all. Sansa wanted to look again, go through the texts he’d sent her properly, but she plugged the charger into the phone instead, unsteady in her shaky hands. They’d be expecting her downstairs now, and it looked as though it would die again soon anyway.

 

The knot atop her head was surprisingly sturdy, and took some time to undo. But then she’d removed all the pins, undone the braids, and her hair was falling in thick strands about her face, tingly and strange-feeling as it fell back into place. She pulled on the nightdress she’d left on her pillow. It was an old one, with a cartoon of a dancing cupcake on the front. It was far too short on her now, so she pulled on a pair of leggings to go downstairs in.

 

Swallowing hard, Sansa walked to the hallway, carefully closing the door behind her. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. She’d done the right thing hadn’t she? Gotten out of the car, called home- still, the hall seemed longer than usual.

 

She padded into the kitchen, and saw her parents sitting at the table. A glance out the window showed the patrol car gone, though she hadn’t heard Bronn leave. The empty chair put her between her parents facing the both of them.

 

Dad took her hand where she’d lain it on the table. “Bronn’s told us what happened Sansa, but I’d like to hear it from you as well.” He’d told her once it was part of an investigation, to have different people ask the same question, to see if someone slipped up and revealed a lie. But his hand was firm over her own, and his eyes, when she met them, were intent and concerned.

 

Wetting her lips, Sansa told them. She tried, as she had with Bronn, to keep it as simple as she could, sticking to the bare facts. She flushed when she’d admitted that she’d had some of the vodka from Joff’s bottle, but they didn’t berate her when she told that part. The only thing she embellished was that Clegane boy’s role in everything, making it sound as though she’d seen and recognized him when she’d looked into shop rather than choosing a random store to enter.

 

When she finished, Dad let out a sigh, scrubbing a hand through his already tousled hair.

 

“I’m sorry, Dad.”

 

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, love. You did exactly right.” He dropped his hand to meet her eyes. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not happy that you were drinking, but the rest of it is what could’ve gone bad.”

 

She nodded, not trusting her own voice.

 

“I’ll have to talk to Robert tonight.” He sounded tired.

 

“Bronn said that he’d talk to him.”

 

“I’d rather it came from me. He got the boy that car what, a couple of weeks back?” It had been even less than that, but Sansa held her tongue.

 

Mother shook her head. “That boy- Sansa, I don’t think you should see him anymore.”

 

“Mum!” They couldn’t stop her from seeing Joff; she wouldn’t let them. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she ground the heels of her hands against them. She’d had enough of crying tonight.

 

“What Sansa does at school is her own business. But he’ll not be taking you out again, and you’ll be taking the bus from now on.”

 

Sana nodded at her father, avoiding Mother’s eye.

 

“Go on to bed Sansa. It’s late.”

 

She rose from the table, hesitating before turning to the stairs. “What- what will you tell Mr. Baratheon?”

 

“The truth.” She looked pleadingly at him, and he sighed again. “I’ll not lie to him Sansa. He deserves to know it all. But I’ll tell him you’d rather Joff didn’t know you said anything.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

And she turned away from her mother’s searching eyes, from Dad’s weary ones, retreating up the stairs and into her room. It was still too quiet in there, and her eyes were instantly drawn to the phone resting on her nightstand, the case glittering prettily under the light.

 

Still, she took her time preparing for bed, brushing out her hair properly, heading to the bathroom to care for her teeth and wash her face, and returning to pull off her leggings. It was only when she’d slid between the sheets, lights extinguished, that he allowed herself to reach for her phone.

 

Curled on her side under the covers, Sansa scrolled to the beginning of the chain of texts. The first looked to have been sent shortly after she’d left the car. She felt an almost electric jolt run through her as she finished the first, and she read it again. By the time she’d reached the end of the messages, she’d pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, tears dripping down her chin to dampen the sheets.

 

The door handle clicked then, and Sansa pressed the phone to her chest to hide its glow. If Mother wanted to talk, she wouldn’t answer. She’d pretend to be asleep. But the door snicked closed as quickly as it had opened, and the mattress dipped as weight fell onto the bed.

 

“Sansa?”

 

“Go _away._ Please.” She curled up even tighter, pulling the sheets over her shoulders.

 

“What happened? Dad wouldn’t tell me anything.”

 

A hand was tugging at her shoulder, and she whirled around, suddenly angry. “Arya! Leave me alone!” Supported on her arm as she was, her phone shone brightly up at the pair of them, illuminating Ayra’s startled face, blinking in the sudden light. Sansa was abruptly aware of the wetness on her own cheeks and tilted the phone away to hide it, but it was too late.

 

Arya reached for the phone, and Sansa pulled it away from her. But she was hampered by the sheets tangled around her legs, and Arya was on her before she could sit up. Her sister’s hands were smaller than her own, but stronger. She wrested the phone away from Sansa, who fought for it anew as Ayra attempted to see the screen.

 

But when Arya stilled and gave and indignant cry, Sansa knew she had seen. Her face crumpled, and suddenly she was sobbing again, hiding her face in the pillow.

 

_Bitch. Whore. Cunt._

 

_We’re done._

 

Arya had laid down beside her, arms wrapped around her as Sansa quaked. Her words didn’t make any sense, but Sansa answered anyway. She told her everything, everything Joff had said and done, the words pouring out as they had not done for her parents.

 

“And he just left me there! By the side of the road!”

 

“Good.”

 

“How is that good? He should have brought me home at least.”

 

“So you could be there when he crashed? He shouldn't be calling you names. _He’s_ the cunt.”

 

But Sansa sniveled all the harder, wiping her nose on the sleeve of her nightdress. Arya’s words were angry, comforting, and vengeful in turn, but they all washed over Sansa unheard.


	6. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Have been sick and on my ass all day, but I seem incapable of getting any real writing done before midnight. But who needs a healthy sleep cycle, right?

Sansa stirred slowly into wakefulness. Mother’s face swam gradually into view, and Sansa threw a hand up over her eyes as she switched on the light.

 

“ _Sansa._ You’ll be late.” Sansa groaned, falling back onto the pillows. She felt movement beside her, and Arya’s tousled head poked up from under the covers. Mother blinked at her for a moment, before continuing. “And you too. Up.”

 

“Mum-” She turned back towards the room. Sansa squinted up at her. “Do I have to? Today?”

 

“Yes.” She gave Sansa a tight-lipped smile, but her tone was gentle. “I thought I’d make some eggs. If you girls get up now, they’ll be time for you to have some before you go.” And she was off, walking briskly down the hallway. Sansa twisted where she lay, and grabbed her phone to check the time. She really had slept late. But then the memories of the night before drifted across her mind, and she felt her face crumple as she pressed it into the pillow. Arya’s hand was small and hot on the back of her neck.

 

“You’ll have to go back sometime.”

 

“I know.”

 

She just didn’t want sometime to be _today._ But she got up anyway, rubbing at her eyes. Her cheeks were dry, the skin feeling as though it were pulled too tight for comfort. Sansa slipped into the hall bathroom, wishing she had time for a shower. She usually did, but she’d slept later than she habitually did, and there would be no car waiting for her today. She would have to ride the bus. Sansa wiped away the few tears that came leaking out at that thought, and scrubbed at her face hard enough to hurt, the skin tingling in the cold water. After brushing her teeth, she felt a little better, but the eyes she saw in the mirror were still red rimmed, the skin around them puffy.

 

Arya was still in bed when she re-entered her room, and Sansa jerked to a stop when she saw her phone in Arya’s hand.

 

“Give that back!”

 

Arya tossed it on the bed, pushing the tangle of brown hair out of her eyes. “I don’t know why you ever liked him. He’s horrible.”

 

“No he isn’t. What do you know anyway?” She’d have to change her phone’s unlock sequence again. Arya was uncannily good at guessing it.

 

“I know he’s horrible. Look what he called you!” Arya pushed the phone towards Sansa, jabbing a finger at the glowing screen, but Sansa averted her eyes, sitting at her desk to yank a brush through her hair. What did Arya know anyway? _She_ was only thirteen, she didn’t know anything about boys.

 

“Shouldn’t you be getting up?” And be going back to _her own_ room to dress? Although she could probably go to school in what she’d worn to bed and no one would ever know the difference. Half the time, Arya dressed almost like a boy.

 

“No. I don’t have to leave for ages.”

 

“Not _ages._ Your bus isn’t much after mine.”

 

 _Please go away._ Sansa’s eyes ached. She felt drained, empty. She didn’t want to answer any of Arya’s stupid questions, not when she’d see Joffrey and the others at school too. One more day, and it’d be the weekend.

 

Arya rolled off the bed with a thump, landing squarely on the floor, legs splayed out in front of her. After sitting there for a long moment, she stumbled to her feet, and pulled open Sansa’s closet, thumbing through her skirts and dresses.

 

“Leave my stuff alone.” But there was no real conviction to her words, and Arya could hear that. She ignored Sansa, rifling through her clothes until she found something that suited her. The skirt was too big for her, coming to her knees rather than mid-thigh as it should. But she seemed satisfied, pairing it with the over-large shirt she’d slept in. Sansa stepped into a pair of jeans herself, eyeing Arya as she pulled her softest, most comfortable cardigan off its hook.

 

“Mum’ll kill you if you go out like that.” The bra war had been going on for over a year now, since Mother had declared Arya old enough to require one.

 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I’ve got a jacket I was gonna wear anyway.” Arya watched her reflection in the mirror, messing with the wide neckline of her shirt, arranging it so that one bare shoulder sat exposed. She grinned toothily up at Sansa, who rolled her eyes back at her. The look would last as long as her bus ride. Arya wasn’t stupid enough to think that the school could be pushed too far with the dress code.

 

Sansa glanced at her phone again, and hurriedly scooped her things unto her bag. She didn’t want to bother with makeup today, but if she was going to see Joff-

 

She sat at the desk again, reaching for her concealer. Despite her uninterrupted sleep, the bags under her eyes were prominent.

 

“Sansa-”

 

“Just shut up.”

 

For a brief moment there was silence behind her. Then, Arya stomped up, and Sansa’s phone clattered across the desk, glittery back glinting up at her.

 

“You forgot your _phone._ ” And she was gone, and her door slammed behind her down the hall. Sansa snatched up her phone, scowling after her. She could've cracked it. And Sansa _hadn’t_ forgotten her phone. Arya had to have pulled it out of her bag _just_ to throw it at her. Huffing to herself, Sansa hurriedly finished her concealer, gathering up both phone and bag, rising to her feet. She could hurry into school, and do the rest in the bathroom.

 

Mother was sitting alone at the table when Sansa came downstairs, sipping at her coffee and reading the news. A folded newspaper sat across from her- so Dad was still home. Mum always laughed at him for it, still reading the paper in this day and age. But she always set it out for him regardless. A steaming plate sat in front of her.

 

“Love you,” Sansa called as she made for the door. She needed to hurry, or she’d miss the bus and Mum would be angry.

 

“Sansa wait-” She turned back, and Mum was scooping a few forkfuls of scrambled eggs onto one of her slices of toast. “Here. For the walk.”

 

Sansa wasn’t hungry, but she took it anyway. “Thanks.”

 

“You’ll be alright. Dad spoke with Robert- he knows what happened.” Sansa nodded, heart falling into her stomach. “You did the right thing. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“Yeah,” she mumbled. “I’m going to be late.” Some little bits of egg tumbled off the toast, but Sansa hurried outside without stopping to pick them up. The air was crisp, but with the promise of warmth for the day to come. Sansa took a small bite of the toast as she walked up the street, but it sat heavily in her stomach when she swallowed.

 

The stop was in front of Jeyne’s house, and despite the hour, no one was there but the quiet boy from up the street, and the Reed girl. Sansa smiled briefly at them, though she didn’t really know either. They were both a year below her. She nibbled at the toast as she waited, foot jiggling. Jeyne burst out of her house just as the groan of the bus’s engine reached Sansa’s ears. She panted to a stop beside her, and Sansa blinked as she looked at her friend. Were those pillow marks on her cheek?

 

The bus made its noisy stop in front of the group of them, and everyone climbed aboard, Sansa taking her old seat behind the driver with Jeyne. She hadn’t had to sit here in days, since Joff had gotten his car. For a while, they rode in silence, swaying with the motions of the bus. Then, Sansa groped in her bag. She didn’t really use it but- there. She pulled out the little mirror, passing it to her friend. Jeyne took it without looking at her. Her mouth opened as she squinted at her reflection, a hand rising to the pale red marks on her cheek.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Are you OK?”

 

“Yeah.” Jeyne was rubbing her hands over her cheeks, but the marks remained where they were. “Are you?” She glanced over at Sansa for the first time, and she saw something like trepidation in Jeyne’s eyes.

 

“Fine.” A lump had formed in her throat, but that wasn’t for now. “Jeyne, look.”

 

She pointed down at the girl’s feet, where her leggings were caught up in her socks, bunched above the line of her boots.

 

“Shit.” Jeyne bent to correct it, slumping against the seat when she sat up. “Tell me. How bad do I look?”

 

Sansa eyed her critically. They could be honest with each other; they always had been. “Really tired. But not that bad, not once the marks go away. How about me?”

 

“Same.”

 

Sansa opened her mouth to tell her friend about Joffrey, about what he said. But then she closed it again. She didn’t want to start all that now, not here.

 

“Look, I’m sorry.”

 

“Sorry for what?” It startled Sansa a little- Jeyne hadn’t done anything wrong.

 

“I-” Jeyne bit her lip, curling the fly-away ends of her hair around a finger. “I guess I got caught up. I should’ve got out with you. So you weren't alone.”

 

“It’s OK.” But warmth had pooled in her stomach at Jeyne’s words, and she didn’t feel quite so bad as she had. “Thanks.”

 

The ride to the school passed quickly, no more words passing between them. By unspoken agreement, when the doors opened, they dashed off first, jogging towards the school at a good clip. They made it to their bathroom in good time, plunking their bags by the mirror.

 

“So what happened? You got home OK?”

 

“Yeah.” Sansa pushed her things aside in the bag, rummaging through her makeup kit until she found it. She usually liked pinks, but a bright spot of color might be what she needed today. “I went into a shop and called my dad. Got a ride home just fine.”

 

“Good.”

 

Sansa pursed her lips in the mirror. The deep red was really too dark for her, but it made her feel better about the day to come. “What about you? I saw the car on the way back.”

 

“Oh, Joff got mad when you got out. Like, really pissed. He went straight home, and he was yelling about- stuff. He went over some speed bumps really hard, but he had to slow down to get in the gate. Then- I don’t know. I guess he wasn’t looking, and he tried to speed up again.”

 

“You were all Ok though?”

 

“Yeah. My neck’s a little stiff, but that’s it. I went to your house, ‘cause it was closer, and I didn’t want to go home yet. But your dad called my mum, of course.” She grimaced at Sansa. “It was a shitshow, let me tell you. Dad was saying I had to be a better example.” She rolled her eyes at Sansa. “So it had to be worse for you. I mean, your dad’s his _boss._ ”

 

“Not really. They were mostly glad no one got hurt. And I didn’t really drink much, so I could make it sound like I hardly had any.”

 

“You did have hardly any.”

 

“Did Margie and Alla get home alright?”

 

“Yeah, I guess. They were going to her cousin Megga’s house, I think they said.”

 

Sansa would have to text Margaery, just to be sure. She almost always met them here in the mornings, and she hadn't seen the other girl at all. But the phone in her hand reminded her.

 

“Jeyne, what did Joffrey say?”

 

The other girl glanced at her, looking around the empty bathroom. “He said- Sansa, did he- you know…” Jeyne trailed off, looking at her almost awkwardly.

 

Sansa turned away, unwilling to show her face as she said it. “Yeah.”

 

“Oh.” Jeyne came up behind her, and just like that, they were hugging, and unlike with Arya, Sansa found herself wanting to talk. Jeyne, at least, understood.

 

“He said-”

 

The bell rang just then, and they broke apart. “We’ll talk in gym?”

 

“Yeah.” Sansa swiped a hand over her eyes, grateful she’d not put any makeup on them.

 

Jeyne walked her to class as usual, and Sana scanned the crowd. She didn’t know if she was looking for Joffrey or Margaery or Alla, but none made an appearance. Jeyne gave her a good firm hug at the door, then Rose was patting the seat beside her. Sansa slid into it, yanking her things out of her bag.

 

“How was last night? Did you guys do anything fun?”

 

Sansa glanced over at Rose’s open, smiling face. “It was alright. You’re still coming over Sunday?”

 

“Yes, of course! What did you want to do?”

 

Sansa shrugged. “I thought we could maybe watch a movie, just hang out. You know?”

 

“Sure!” Sansa looked at Rose again, and had to suppress the cruel urge to snap at her. Her pretty, foolish smile, the jaunty scarf in her hair- her eager manner put Sansa in mind of a puppy, one that would be all too easy to kick. Sansa closed her eyes for a moment. It wasn’t Rose’s fault that Joffrey had been like that.

 

“Are you OK?” She opened her eyes to see that Rose’s smile had faded a little.

 

“Yeah. Just tired, I guess.” Her phone vibrated then, and she glanced down, expecting to see a text from Margaery, or Jeyne perhaps. But to her utter shock it was Joffrey’s name on the screen. She opened the text with fumbling fingers, licking her lips as she stared down at it.

 

_We’ll talk on Monday._

 

Just four words. But they would mean anything. Was he angry at her, for telling her father everything, or for getting out of the car, as Jeyne had said? Did he maybe want to apologize for what he’d said? He had been drunk when he’d texted her. You heard about people saying stupid things when they were drunk- it happened on TV all the time. He probably wasn’t even here today- he or Margie. Sansa didn’t doubt that Margaery’s parents would have let her stay home if she wanted, and likely Joff’s would as well.

 

She stared down at her phone for another minute, but no new text came. She swallowed, before looking up at Rose again, wanting to talk about something, think about anything else. But Rose wasn’t looking back at her. She was glancing over Sansa’s shoulder, her smile having faded completely.

 

Sansa followed her gaze, feeling a little shock in her belly as she met a pair of gray eyes staring right at her. Where had he _come_ from? He hadn’t been there a minute ago, and he was always here before Sansa.

 

Clegane held her gaze, and then, slowly and deliberately, smiled at her. It wasn’t a terribly pleasant smile, though there was nothing really wrong with it. On the unmarred side of his face, anyway. But it made her feel as though he was looking right through her. Indeed, he dropped his gaze down her body, before lifting it to her face again, that smile still in place. The skin on the back of Sansa’s neck prickled, and she turned hastily away, crossing her arms hard over her chest. She could still feel his eyes on the back of her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I'm not going to limit myself to strictly alternating viewpoints in my chapters, I do plan on trying to have about the same amount of chapters dedicated to both of our leads. Whatever feels best within those limitations.


	7. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while. Hopefully I like it when I post- I have a habit of doing some pretty strong editing immediately afterwards.

Sandor scowled at the voices approaching from down the hall. It wasn't a good day.

 

Gregor had been in his shed last night, while he’d been out. He'd made a mess of his things, blankets stomped onto the ground and the box of crackers and bag of bread had been dumped everywhere. It must have been Gregor, though Sandor didn't know what he'd done or what his brother had been looking for, if anything.

 

But it was alright. Better than having to see him- Gregor was still more than a foot taller than him. Dad never made a mess of his things, not wanting Sandor to know he'd been there. Dad knew he wouldn't stand a chance if he really pissed Sandor off. The old man still had a few inches on him, but he was slow, and drunk more often than not.

 

So no breakfast, and the janitors had made him clean out the bathrooms this morning. And now _people_ were coming, a good half hour before they were supposed to be here.

 

Sandor turned to face the open closet, fiddling with the bottles of cleaner, though he had finished his work for the morning.

 

“I don't understand-”

 

At the sound of the voice, soft and pleading, Sandor glanced back over his shoulder.

 

A flash of red hair. So it was her then. That would've been alright, only she wasn't alone. Some blonde guy was with her, her boyfriend by the way she was clutching his arm. Sandor directed his gaze back to the open closet, waiting for them to leave. The classrooms wouldn't be open yet, but the gym would be. Meadows was always there early, for some reason, humming under his breath as he puttered around doing nothing. Old man like that, maybe he really didn't have anything better to do, but he never minded if Sandor came in. He might use the weight room, though he'd already showered. The burn in his arms would help to drown out the insistent pangs in his empty stomach.

 

He'd promised himself he would wait to get more food, maybe another two days. And maybe carry it all with him somehow, or leave it in the car parked at Ed's.

 

The footsteps paused behind him, and Sandor bit his cheek in frustration.

 

“What's not to understand?”

 

Sandor didn't know that voice, but he disliked the sound of it. Smarmy and self-satisfied, sounding all too pleased by the girl's unhappiness.

 

“ _Why_? In the car, you said-”

 

“I said a lot of things.”

 

Sandor couldn't help but to listen, crouched by the cart of supplies. The irritation at the pair's presence waned only slightly by curiosity.

 

“You said that we could talk.”

 

“We are talking.” The suppressed glee in the boy's voice set Sandor on edge. He wished they would leave.

 

“Come on.” The girl, at least, seemed to register his presence. But there was no sound of retreating footsteps.

 

“Joff-”

 

“No.”

 

“Why?” She sounded almost ready to cry now.

 

“It's not right. Guys shouldn't be alone with another girl, not when they've got a girlfriend.”

 

There was a moment of silence behind him, before the girl spoke again, her voice soft and shaking.

 

“You- you bastard.”

 

Sandor had barely enough time to enjoy the insult before the crack of skin on skin had him wheeling around, rising to his full height.

 

The girl had stumbled back, hand pressed to her reddening cheek. Both she and the blonde prick in front of her turned to face Sandor. Her eyes widened, but the boy looked, if possible, even more satisfied, despite how far up he had to crank his neck to look Sandor in the eye.

 

“That's him then?”

 

Sandor paused, nonplussed at the boy's words. He wasn’t sure what he had wanted to do when he'd turned, but he wanted to do _something._

 

“Joff, I _told_ you, he just let me use his phone.”

 

“I don't believe you.”

 

Liar. The little smirk on his lips said otherwise. Then, the boy advanced, grabbing the girl by both shoulders. She gasped, flinching away from him. Sandor froze, hands balled into fists. He couldn't hit the boy, not here, but he couldn't just-

 

Then the girl was lurching towards him, hair flying behind her. She hit his chest hard, fingers scrabbling for purchase on the front of his shirt, and Sandor stumbled backwards, cursing as he hit the cart behind him. Then the door slammed in front of them, and he was engulfed in darkness.

 

She pushed herself off of him, and Sandor nearly fell as her weight left him.

 

“Joffrey, Joffrey!”

 

She was pounding on the door, knocking bottles to the floor as she stumbled in the darkness.

 

“Stop it.” She didn't seem to hear him over her own cries, and the commotion she was making as she pounded her fists on the closed door. “I said, stop it!”

 

He shouted himself that time, and it seemed to startle the girl into compliance. “He’s not coming back.”

 

Her voice was frantic beside him, though he couldn't see her. “The door-”

 

“Locks when you close it.”

 

“Oh.” Her voice was quieter now. “You have the key?”

 

“Can't use it from this side.”

 

For a moment there was nothing but silence, except for her little sniffles. Sandor closed his eyes against the darkness. Why did this have to happen _today?_

 

Sandor’s stomach growled angrily in his gut, seeming to be gnawing it's way towards his spine.

 

“I'm sorry.” The words were spoken quietly, but the girls voice sounded thick and wet. Sandor opened his eyes. He could almost see her now, see the outline of her shape from where she stood by the closet door.

 

“Why are _you_ sorry?” He closed his mouth sharply, biting back the words that he wanted to say. It would look bad enough when they were found in here together. He didn't need the girl to be crying too, pointing fingers.

 

“I mean, he's my-”

 

“It didn't sound like he's your anything anymore.”

 

 _Shut up, shut up._ Why was he talking to her?

 

“Why are you always so hateful?”

 

The snap in her words took him aback, but what startled him all the more was the finger poked squarely into the center of his chest. Almost automatically, he knocked her hand away, trying to see her properly as she advanced upon him. He'd never seen her angry before.

 

“I never did anything to you. _Nothing_. But you hate me.”

 

“I don't hate you.” What was the girl doing? Didn't she know how to leave things alone?

 

“Yes you do. You don't even know me, but you hate me.”

 

“I _don't.”_

 

“Then why do you look at me like that?”

 

She was right in front of him now, close in the confines of the closet. Sandor tried to shift backwards a bit, but there was nowhere to go. The cart dug into his lower back, and he heard a plastic bottle hit the floor.

 

“Like _how_?” But there was a small twist of guilt curling in his gut.

 

“You know how.” That finger was back again, poking harder then ever. He swatted it away, lip curling.

 

“You should say you’re sorry, for-”

 

“For what? Fucking looking at you in a way you don't like?”

 

He didn't _have_ to do anything.

 

“It's not me who's got you pissed off, it's the prick who shoved you in here. I'm not him, so get out of my face!”

 

She actually withdrew at that, backing into the closed door. Sandor pushed himself properly upright, more bottles falling to the floor with a clatter. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought she jumped at the sound. Sandor thought about banging on the door, shouting like the girl had been. He could make much more of a racket than she ever could. But students would be coming soon, and Sandor didn’t want talk. There _had_ to be cameras, fancy place like this, but still-

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

He blinked at that, startled out of his thoughts, and didn’t answer.

 

“You’re right. I’m not angry at you, not really. I shouldn't have shouted.”

 

Her voice had lost it's bite, had become quiet and quavery once more. To his surprise, he wished for her to shout again, to stiffen her spine and find her anger.

 

“S'fine.”

 

“So- so what do we do?”

 

The close confines of the little space was less than comfortable. Even as far apart as might be, she was uncomfortably close.

 

“Len will come at some point.”

 

“Len?”

 

“One of the janitors.”

 

“When do you think?”

 

Sandor shrugged, before realizing that she couldn't see.

 

“No clue.” Len would have been fired, he thought, if we weren't Hotah's nephew. Not that Len ever did anything wrong, he just seemed out of place in this grand, shiney building. Almost as out of place as Sandor himself. The smell of pot coated him like perfume, though Sandor had never seen him smoking any at the school. There was no telling when he might come- he was supposed to be supervising Sandor in the mornings, should have been with him at the closet. But he'd wandered off, as he usually did. The two of them might be in for a wait.

 

At that thought, he lowered himself to the floor with a slight grunt. He thought he felt his shoulder brush hers before she pulled away. It wasn’t much more comfortable down here. There wasn’t enough space to sit properly; he had to nearly hug his knees.

 

“You really think it’ll be that long?”

 

“I already said, I don’t know.” He felt cramped, irritable. “You’ll come with me to Hotah’s after this.”

 

He heard her suck in a quick breath.

 

“No- can’t we just-”

 

“Don’t be stupid. We can’t _just._ ” Sandor tried to keep his voice level, speaking almost to his knees. “We might miss some class, and even if we don’t, I need to tell him.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because,” Sandor snapped, “I’ll lose my bloody scholarship if they think we were fucking around in here. And I bet that’s what that blonde cunt’s gonna tell people.”

 

“Don’t _call_ him that!” Her voice had lost it’s quaver, and Sandor smiled into the darkness.

 

“Why not? He hit you, didn’t he? And don’t tell me that was the first time.”

 

“How would you know?” She was trying for a bold tone, but there were some traces of uncertainty in her voice now, and Sandor nodded to himself. If he hadn’t already known-

 

“Because he did it in front of me. _Here,_ at this school, where teachers get pissed off at an untucked shirt.”

 

She began to make some heated response, before abruptly cutting herself off. Sandor could hear it too- the buzz of voices. He rested his chin on his knees, listening to the swell of talk move closer. Neither made and noise as they heard the footsteps, the laughter, the metallic crash of careless hands swinging lockers closed.

 

Sandor supposed they could start pounding on the door again, have someone let them out before class started. But he wanted to make sure that the principle heard the truth of the matter, before rumor distorted things. The girl did not suggest it either. Likely she also wanted to avoid discovery and rumor, though for entirely different reasons.

 

When the bell rang, the voices and footsteps faded away until all was quiet once more. In the silent aftermath, Sandor felt the girl sit beside him, her knee nearly touching his leg.

 

“Why do you hate me?”

 

“I already said, I don’t-”

 

“I’m not stupid, you know.” Her voice had a slight defiant ring to it. “Maybe you don't hate me, but you don’t even know me and you don’t like me. What is it?”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

Stirring slightly beside him, she spoke up again. “Why?”

 

“Why do you care.” Len. Fucking Len. Where was he?

 

She was quiet for long enough that he thought she wasn’t going to answer, would leave the silence unbroken. But then her quiet voice penetrated the shadows.

 

“Because everyone thinks that.”

 

“What? That I don’t like you?”

 

What _everyone_ would waste their time thinking about that?

 

“No. Well, yes. Rose does. But that there’s something- I don’t know. Soft about me.”

 

Sandor shifted, the shelves of the cart digging into his back. She wasn’t wrong. She did look soft, though he didn’t tell her that. Something about the delicate features of her face paired with the vibrant hair and big round eyes made her look breakable, like a doll.

 

She continued, almost too softly for Sandor to hear. “Why does everyone think that?”

 

Sandor snorted. “You aren't exactly proving everyone wrong. You _let_ him hit you.” He expected her to protest, though he figured she knew he was right. But she didn’t.

 

“Look, are you gonna tell me what that was about anyway?”

 

There was a long pause before she replied. “I don’t know.”

 

“What? You think I’d tell someone?” Sandor let his head thump back against the cart. “Who would I tell here?”

 

Who would he tell anywhere.

 

“It’s- it’s just stupid.” There was a rustling and clinking, and Sandor imagined the girl rummaging through her purse.

 

“We don’t have anything better to do.”

 

She actually laughed a little at that. “I guess.”

 

Sandor shifted on the floor, hunching his legs up all the more, so that his thighs pressed against his stomach, and wrapping his arms around them. It didn’t help much. “So?”

 

“So- so Joff was my boyfriend.”

 

“I figured that. So what else?”

 

“Well, you kind of saw some of it.” She spoke quietly as she told him, and he learned that for the most part, he’d had the right of it. She had been on a date that night, and her date _had_ been a prick.

 

“So he dumped you?”

 

“Yeah.” She actually sounded sad.

 

“Why would you care?” It had pleased him to learn that this ‘Joffrey’ was the owner of that car Sandor had wanted to scuff, and that he had managed to destroy it all on his own.

 

“Because I-”

 

“ _Love_ him?” Sandor mocked, wishing he could see her face through the dark.

 

“No!”

 

“What then?”

 

“Maybe I thought I did. Or he did. I don’t know.”

 

“You thought he loved you, if he was hitting you?”

 

“No. What do you know, anyway? You don’t-”

 

“I don’t what?”

 

“Stop that, will you?” She was definitely irritated now.

 

“Stop what?”

 

“Interrupting.”

 

“Why?” Needling her was the best distraction he could find in here.

 

“Look, will you just stop? I don't know what I did, but find somebody else.”

 

She wasn’t angry, as she had been before. She spoke quietly, and that was worse. Sandor felt his ears heat some. “I already said-”

 

“And _I_ said too. I’m not stupid. Don’t act like I am.”

 

He didn’t answer that. Just sat in the darkness next to her. Why did he- not _hate_ her. Sandor knew hate; the burn and flow of it, as it went all through your body, egging you to do things you knew you couldn’t do, knew would be beyond stupid. He didn’t hate the girl. So why did he bother with her at all? Thinking about her always irritated him, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

 

“I don’t hate you.” It took some work to say the words again, and he hunched his shoulders, half expecting another snapped comment, when she spoke again, her voice was as soft as it had been before.

 

“I’m Sansa.”

 

“I-” What was she doing? “I know that.”

 

“Well, we never got properly introduced did we?”

 

Sandor sat there, palms resting on his knees, unsure what she wanted from him. She huffed out a breath beside him. “This is when you say-”

 

But a noise was coming down the hallway, a screechy whistling tune that Sandor knew well. He lurched to his feet, knocking against the girl as he rose. He tried not to think about the tickly feel of her hair brushing his arm.

 

“Len!” He spoke loudly, trying to ignore the crack in his voice as he slapped a palm hard against the closed door.


	8. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep posted, should be another one coming sometime before morning.

They were all looking. Mrs. Martin too, breaking off mid-sentence to turn and see who had entered. Sansa swallowed, and extended the note to the teacher, feeling a slight wave of irritation at her own hand’s unsteadiness. Martin took the note, glanced at it, eyes flicking between her and Clegane before gesturing them both to sit.

 

They moved their separate ways, Sansa keeping her eyes on her feet as she slipped into the mercifully empty seat beside Rose. They hadn’t missed all that much. Part of a lecture on the assigned chapter, that was all. She pulled her things out of the bag, biting her lip as she fought the urge to glance around the room, meet some of the eyes that were surely looking furtively her way.

 

Had he already done it? Did  _ everyone _ know?

 

It took several long, excruciating moments for Martin to wrap up her lecture, to tell them to work on their worksheets alone or in pairs. It was with both relief and mounting nerves that Sansa turned towards Rose, offering her a smile that felt too tight and too thin.

 

Rose smiled back, a small flutter of the lips that showed nothing of her usual eagerness. Sansa licked her lips, watching the other girl closely. She didn’t seem to want to meet Sansa’s eyes, ducking down over her worksheet, pawing her pale braid over her shoulder as though to hide behind it.

 

“Rose-” 

 

Rose glanced up too quickly, her brown eyes large in her thin face.

 

Sansa swallowed. She  _ had _ to know, she couldn’t just wait.

 

“Want to work with me on this?”

 

She gestured down to her own worksheet, working to hold the smile on her face. Joff  _ had _ to have started already. Just the other day, Rose had been thrilled to be with her, chattering excitedly about which movie they’d watch, wanting to take pictures together. Not today, apparently.

 

Rose ducked her head again, and Sansa watched her long sparkly earrings brushing against her pale neck.

 

“I- I think I’m OK.”

 

Sansa suddenly had to swallow back a large lump in her throat, had to close her eyes briefly against the sting of the rejection.

 

“Fine.”

 

She’d meant to snap it, to regain some of the self-righteous anger she’d found in the darkness of the janitor’s closet, but the word came out softer than she’d intended. Rose looked up at that, and she looked for a moment as though she wanted to say something. But she didn’t. Just bent her head over her work again, as though she needed to be inches away to read the words properly.

 

Sansa looked down at her own sheet, the words blurring a little. This whole thing couldn’t be happening. It didn’t make any sense.

 

Combing her hand through her hair, she snuck a peak over at Clegane, hunched over in his usual corner. He was getting his fair share of looks as well, but that was nothing new for him. He was altogether ignoring everybody else, which was just as typical. People had been looking and speculating since he’d arrived.

 

Besides. It wouldn’t be so bad for  _ him _ . Maybe, he’d even enjoy it.

 

But maybe not. She really ought to warn him, say the words she had not been able to muster up as she’d stood beside him in the dark. It was only fair. But not here. Not here with the watching eyes and listening ears, not where anything she did might only confirm rumors.

 

She thought even Mr. Hotah might have heard something. Maybe she had just been imagining it, but he had certainly looked at her hard over the expanse of his polished wooden desk. He was a large man, entirely unteacher-like in his size and in the bulky strength under his thick woolen jackets, but he was entirely suited to his job as Principle. She had only ever spoken with him herself once before, and he had been intimidating then, even though he had been welcoming her to the school in an absent minded, if sincere, sort of way. Hotah was not a man to cross. Everybody knew that, but Sansa had never felt it as acutely as when he had been looking at her after her fumbled explanations, stern and quiet, as though waiting for her to admit to something.

 

When she had not, he had sent her out of his office with a sigh. She had joined Clegane and the tottering old hall monitor to be escorted to class with the note excusing them clutched in her hand. Neither of them had been punished. 

 

Was that a kindness on their principal's part? Sansa suspected not, which made things even worse. That meant it was Joffrey’s fault in his eyes, and if Joffrey was at fault, he would not go unpunished. Then he would say that it was Sansa’s fault, and everything would only get worse.

 

What had he told people? Not all he had accused Sansa of, surely. Not the whole story either, that was plain. Joff didn’t like anything that set him in a bad light.

 

She looked over at Rose again, still uncharacteristically hunched over in her seat, plainly ignoring Sansa. She wondered who had talked to her, Joff or Margie. She thought it must have been  Margaery. She thought Rose didn't really know Joff, and Joffrey had certainly never bothered keeping track of who Sansa was friendly with for the most part. Margie though-

 

She let her head come down to gently rest on her crossed arms. Pressing her upper arms to her ears, she did her best to block out the quiet rumble of talk from everybody else, though she couldn't really hear what they were saying anyway. She wished she were at home.

 

“Miss Stark.”

 

Jerking upright, Sansa pushed her hair back from her eyes to see Mrs. Martin standing in front of her, mousy in her long skirt and blouse.

 

“We learn in this class, we do not sleep.”

 

Sansa muttered an apology, eyes flicking down to her untouched worksheet.

 

“Everybody else here seems to be awake and functioning. Go work with a partner, and I expect to see progress shortly.” 

 

She looked over her rimless spectacles at Sansa, a small, frumpy-looking young woman, who Sansa thought probably liked to imagined herself strict. At her old school, teachers like Mrs. Martin did not always have the easiest of times. Not that anything serious had ever happened- Winterdown had been a  _ private _ school after all, and most trouble-makers had been quickly and easily quashed. Sansa thought that the PTA might have had more to do with that than most of the school’s staff- no one wanted Winterdown to get a  _ reputation _ . But teachers like Martin were always mocked by the student body, and while that was no exception here, there were no pranks like Ashley Horst had liked to pull, no loud jokesters like Jon Umber disrupting the class. Hotah was strict enough, Sansa felt, that no one bothered trying any of that here, and all the teachers benefitted from his firm hand. She had always been quiet, but back in the north she’d giggled along with the rest. She almost wished she were the sort who could be loud and rude, like Arya when she got angry, could say something to Martin to make that sanctimonious look fall off her face.

 

She nodded.

 

When the teacher moved away, Sansa glanced around the room. Rose was still studiously avoiding her eyes, and she didn’t really know anybody else in here. Not well enough to ask, anyway. Except-

 

She huffed, planting a hand against her forehead, aware that Mrs. Martin was watching her from the front of the class.

 

She didn’t want to do it. But she’d never had any trouble getting  _ him _ to talk to her.

 

“Hey, Addam.”

 

The boy looked up at her call, the surprise clear on his face. But it didn’t stop him for long. A squirrely-looking smile replaced it, and he gestured her over, pulling his own books off the desk beside him. Sansa gathered up her own things, and walked over with her head down. Slipping into the desk beside him, she put her things down in front of her.

 

With a screeching of metal on the linoleum floor, Addam slid his desk over to press against hers, and she hastily moved her things to the side, some small flimsy barrier between the two of them.

 

“Hey.”

 

He grinned, and Sansa tried not to make a face at the smell of his breath. Why couldn't he just clean himself like everyone else? Being around him was bad enough for other reasons, did he have to smell too?

 

“Hey.”

 

“It’s been a while.”

 

Not long enough. She cleared her throat, flipping to the right chapter in the book. “Yeah.”

 

Mrs. Martin had risen from her seat to begin pacing again. In a moment, her slow circuit would take her past their row.

 

“You can copy what I did so far. If you want.”

 

Sansa hesitated, but she really did need to get moving on her work, if she wanted to ask Addam what he’d heard.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“No problem.” He was still grinning, and still smelled less than pleasant, but at least he was talking to her. And he hadn’t tried to put his arm around her, or move any closer than he already was, which was something. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. She glanced over to take down the first answer.

 

“So. Like I said. Been a while, hasn’t it? Some things have changed, right?”

 

She glanced up again, not quite sure what he meant.

 

“I mean, you and Joffrey are done, right?”

 

Oh. It felt like she was punched in the stomach, and her eyes began to burn again. Not here. Not in front of him, in front of all of them.

 

She shrugged, trying to keep her voice casual. “Yeah. So?”

 

“So nothing.” But his hand had fallen to the metal bars supporting his seat, uncomfortably close to Sansa’s knee. She shifted away from him.

 

“So how do you know about that anyway?” Joff had said he would tell everybody, tell them how she’d been such a-

 

“Word gets around.” He was pushing his hands through his mop of greasy dun-brown hair. She was grateful for it, grateful that his hand was nowhere near her leg anymore. This day was awful enough. If he tried to touch her again, she just might slap him. Which of course, would bring her right back to Mr. Hotah’s office. She crossed her legs hard, digging one heel into her calf.

 

Seeing the impatient tic of her pen against the deck, Addam relented with another lazy looking grin. She saw that his worksheet was already done- he was unfairly good at all this. She had heard Martin tell him once that he would be top of the class, if only he would bother to do his homework.

 

“I was in Drama, and Nick got a text. He showed it around to all of us.”

 

Nick Hart was a friend of Joff’s on the Baseball team, a year above Sansa. She’d always thought him handsome, and he’d always been nice to her. 

 

“What….” She trailed off as the swish of a tartan skirt marked Martin’s arrival, and glanced up to see her looking down at the barely-started worksheet. She glanced at Sansa with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing. As soon as she turned her back, Sansa scribbled down more of Addam’s answers. She opened her mouth to ask, but he was already looking at her, hands clenching and unclenching as he began to speak again.

 

“She caught you, he said. Your friend. Margaery-”  He managed to look slightly nervous just saying her name, although she was nowhere near them, “She caught you with another guy. And she told him.”

 

He was looking at her in a way she did not like, a way that made her want to move away and to put her jacket on, put it on and zip it to the very top.

 

“Who? Who did he say?” Sansa lowered her voice, glancing around, even though nobody was looking at her anymore.

 

“He didn’t.” 

 

But Addam was glancing over to the seat closest to the window, at the large hunched shoulders that could only belong to one person. 

 

“Who?” She gripped the edge of the desk hard, feeling her fingers dig into a tacky piece of gum on the underside of it.

 

“Like I said.” Addam shifted in his seat, still looking excited. “He didn't say.”

 

Sansa just gaped at him for a moment, before snatching up her things and hurrying back to her old seat.

 

Rose still wouldn’t look at her.


	9. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK. I lied. I said last night, and here we are today. Was trying to hold myself accountable for another chapter, and I guess it sort of worked, just not as quickly as I'd intended.
> 
> BTW- this story, like all my stories, is not read by anyone except me before publication, and though I do try to be careful in my editing, some things do slip through. If you see any errors, please let me know!

Miss Freesia- Gilly, as she was forever telling him to call her- didn’t bother him today, and that was good. She was forever trying to talk to him, with all the earnestness of a twenty-three year old just out of college. She had majored in education, but had not been able to find a suitable position to teach after her graduation. Though she did like her duties as librarian, she wanted more. Sandor knew this, and more, because she had taken to talking to him when he came in here during lunch. She was forever telling him that she was _sure_ he was a nice boy, she was _sure_ he could get to know the people here if he only tried, she was _sure_ there were some students Sandor would like.

 

She said the word _sure_ as though she wasn’t positive at all.

 

But there was none of that today. Just a bright smile up at him from behind the desk. Tarly was in here too, as per the usual. He jumped, as he always did when he saw Sandor, looking as guilty as though he were a wandering student and not the choir director on his free period. Mr. Tarly smiled briefly at Sandor too, although his gaze slid over him after barely a second, landing back on Gilly as he smoothed a nervous hand across his hair.

 

Sandor suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as he nodded at them. The pair of them were always in here, carefully not looking at each other half the time.

 

The warmth of the sandwich near burned into the skin of his side, but he didn’t move his arm from it’s anchoring position. It was only a little farther now. Moving past the desk, past Tarly and his stumbling complements, Sandor headed towards the little door. This study room, his study room as he had taken to thinking of it, was always empty. It was the smallest one, tucked out of the way nearly behind the shelves of the most boring books, with no windows to betray the occupants to anybody. Gilly had told him that he was the only one who ever used the room during school hours, and Sandor liked it that way. He liked the library, its simpleness. He’d expected something bigger, more grandiose in a school like Kingswood. But the library was just a library, if new looking, and nicer than any he’d known.

 

He had stepped into the room quickly, eager to rid himself of the burn that had slid from his ribs to his hip, despite the securing pressure of his arm, when he realized that something was wrong.

 

There was a bag, smooth, leather, and expensive looking carelessly hanging over the back of the chair nearest to him, and there were books scattered across the length of the table. Her head came up, hair a curtain of fire around her startled face.

 

Gilly. Fucking Gilly.

 

_I know you could meet some people here if you just tried…_

 

Turning abruptly, he reached for the door which had swung shut behind him, intending to use one of the other rooms. But not without shooting _Miss Freesia_ a substantial glare first.

 

“No- wait. It’s fine.”

 

Turning back to the table, he saw that she had half risen to her feet, a hand extended in his direction as though to stop him.

 

“I’ll leave if you want. But-” She licked her lips, and Sandor was struck by her bare face, by her startling prettiness despite the red mark on her cheek where she had been resting her head on a hand. “I wanted to talk to you. If you don’t mind.”

 

Sandor hesitated. She had been crying, that much was plain. Over that prick who’d dumped her, most like. It brought mingled satisfaction and frustration to think about him. He’d been suspended or some shit like that, but it wasn’t _enough._ He didn’t like being used like that, as a tool for a girl’s humiliation, but there was nothing he could do about it here.

 

“Fine.” He took his hand off the doorknob, threw his things down on the table. It got his back up to see them together like that, her things and his. Her bag that probably cost more than his car next to his own battered canvas backpack.

 

He could push her down today, he knew. A few days had passed since their brief imprisonment in the closet, and there had been a few boys sidling up to him in the hallways. Whas it true, they’d asked. What was she like, did they actually fuck, or was it just-

 

He shook his head. It would have bothered him more, except that the older boys always puffed themselves up around him, pushing out their chests to make themselves seem bigger. It never worked.

 

“Look-” She was hesitating again, biting her lower lip. Sandor watched her struggle to find the words for a moment before he ended it for her.

 

“I know. About what they’re saying, if that was it.”

 

Sansa looked almost relieved for a moment, before ducking her head again. “I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything. You just helped me, and now look. I’ve gone and-” She laughed a little, a small shaky thing, “-dragged you into my drama, I guess. I’m sorry.”

 

“S’alright.”

 

There were worse things to have people talk about than you screwing around with a pretty girl. It wasn’t like he really cared what they thought anyway. Just- he’d always had some talk floating around him, and at least this wasn’t true.

 

Not that it would be bad if it were. She’d taken off all that makeup she always wore, and was scrubbing at her damp cheek with a sleeve, but she was still good to look at. Better than the piles of shit he had to wade through before lunch was over.

 

Remembering, he sat and swung his text out in front of him. Before he really started, he pulled the cooling sandwich out from beneath his shirt. The girl stared at him as he put it on the table, her eyes widening even more when he pulled the little carton of milk from one pocket, and the apple from the other.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” she blinked. “You’re not supposed to eat in here, are you?”

 

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” As a rule to break, it was a minor one in Sandor’s opinion. He liked it in here, with the quiet and the books, with only Gilly to bother him.

 

Sansa watched as Sandor tore into the sandwich. Maybe it bothered her how quickly he was eating. He bet she had a nanny growing up, someone to tell her which fork to use and how many times to chew each bite.

 

“Anyway. That’s all I wanted to say.”

 

Sandor swallowed a mouthful of chicken. “OK. You’ve said it.”

 

Still, she hesitated. “Look- do you mind if I stay here? I was just doing some homework.”

 

He shrugged. “Me too. I guess not.”

 

She gave him another of those shaky smiles. He hastily grabbed his notebook, trying not to look at her. He didn’t know why he’d let her stay. He came here to be alone, after all. But as the minutes went by, she proved to be a quiet worker, with only the scratch of her pencil to prove that she was there at all.

 

After a time, she flipped her math textbook shut, blowing her breath out. He glanced up at her.

 

“Done?” Maybe she would leave now.

 

“For now. I’m no good at this. I guess I’ll do the rest at home.” That was never an option for Sandor. Who knew how much these books cost? Losing one-

 

“Well?” She was still sitting there, making no move to gather up her things.

 

She shot him a frosty glare. “I’m not bothering you.”

 

She was, but it would only sound childish to say it.

 

“Fine.”

 

Still frowning, she looked back down at her own notebook, where she looked to be doodling rather than doing anything of actual substance. Sandor glanced at his phone- there were only ten more minutes of lunch anyway.

 

“You know-” He looked up, to see her poking idly at her phone. “You’re probably my best school friend right now.” She had a lopsided little half smile on her face, as though she knew how ridiculous the statement was.

 

“What?”

 

“I mean. At least you _talk_ to me. Like a normal person I mean.” Her face was screwing up as though she might start crying again, but her voice was angry.

 

“What.”

 

She looked over at him.

 

“Come on. You want to say _something._ So just say it.”

 

Sucking in a long breath, she looked down at her mostly empty notebook, flipping to a blank page anyway. When she looked up again, her eyes were bright, but her face had settled into something closer to anger than sadness.

 

“Well. I don’t know. Maybe that none of my friends will talk to me anymore. Even Jeyne won’t look at me at school, even if she’ll talk to me at home. My boyfriend-” She broke off here, and twisted her hands around the pencil in a way that spoke of violence. She didn't seem to notice when it broke. “My _ex_ , I mean. He’s going out with one of my best friends, who didn’t even tell me about it. She just let him tell me, and you saw how he did that.”

 

She shot a glare at him here, though he’d done nothing to deserve it. He opened his mouth to say so, but she went ranting on.

 

“So now everyone thinks I’m a- that I’ve been screwing around with you, and that maybe I’ll do it with anybody if they ask. So now, of course, Addam won’t stop-”

 

The anger rose then, boiling and frothing at her words. “With _me_ , huh? Would have been better if it was some pretty boy, someone _better?_ ”

 

She actually looked startled at his outburst. “No. Just, anyone who knows me knows that I wouldn’t. Do anything like that, I mean. With anyone.”

 

He sat back in the too-small chair. She might say that, might even believe it herself, but he knew better. It made him want to wipe the self-righteous look off her face.

 

“You never fucked him, did you?”

 

He expected her to gape at him, to yell, maybe to start crying. To his surprise, she did none of those things. Actually paused in her twiddling of the broken pencil in her hand, a slight smirk on her face.

 

“No. I didn’t. He wanted me too, but I didn’t.” She glanced up at him, slight defiance in her eyes. “I wouldn’t.”

 

It made him snicker, the thought of the blonde cunt trying to get into little Miss Perfect Princess’s pants, trying and failing every time. She grinned at his laugh, and actually giggled herself at her own words, pressing a hand over her mouth and turning a bit red.

 

The bell rang just then, and he cleared his throat, shoving the apple core into the mess of the carton and sandwich wrapper, shoving the lot into his pocket and scraping together his books and notebooks.

 

“Hey.”

 

She had stood as well, gathering up her own things, swinging that expensive bag onto her shoulder. The smile had slid a little from her face, though the ghost of her laughter still danced a little in her eyes.

 

“You won’t-”

 

“Tell anybody?” He grabbed up his bag, letting it hang open by his leg so he could stuff everything into it. “Like I said. Who would I tell?”


	10. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will try to get another chapter out by tomorrow night.

“Hi.”

 

Mum looked up from the cutting board, flicking a strand of hair away from her eyes with the wrist of her knife-free hand. “Yes? What is it, Sansa?”

 

“Can I help?”

 

Mum just blinked for a long moment, before nodding. “I don’t see why not. Chop those carrots please? Not too small now.”

 

Sansa pulled a hair-band off of her wrist, pulling her hair up into a sloppy knot on the back of her head. Chunks of hair still tickled the back of her neck, but there was no one here to see. Taking up another knife, Sansa stood opposite her mother at the kitchen island, pressing the freshly washed carrots down to slice them up. She didn’t really cook, but cutting things up was easy enough. She worked in silence for a moment, before her mother spoke across from her.

 

“All right. I’ll bite. What is it you want?”

 

Sansa glanced up, hands pausing in their motions. Mum was looking mildly over at her, no anger or accusatory looks coming Sansa’s way, but she still felt a little affronted. “What. Do I have to want something to help out around here?”

 

“No. But you haven't said a word to your sister, after you spent all of yesterday fighting. You spent all morning helping Bran with his homework, and here you are helping me cook dinner. I can be hopeful, Sansa, but I’m not foolish. So. What is it?”

 

“Nothing.” Sansa felt her ears growing a little warm, and hoped that Mother wouldn’t notice. She had thought she was being subtle.

 

“Come on. Is it Joffrey? You want to go out with him tonight, is that it?”

 

“ _ No. _ ” She took up the knife again, giving the carrot a rather vicious chop. It felt good. “No, I  _ don’t  _ want to go out with him.”

 

Not ever again, not after what he said. After what he did.

 

“Oh.” The worked in silence for a long moment, a sullen silence on Sansa’s part, and inquisitive on on her mother’s. When the carrots were finished, Sansa pulled the celery towards her without asking. She thought she knew what Mum was making, and she hoped she was right- it was an old favorite of hers, and would do well to soothe her her now.

 

“Sansa.”

 

Mum wasn’t chopping anymore, or turning to check the pot behind her, though the water had begun to boil.

 

“I know, Mum.” She could tell her anything, no punishment, and all that. It made her soften some, though today it felt more like a collapse in her stomach then a true softening of emotion.

 

“As long as you know. No plans at all tonight then? Jeyne? Margaery maybe? Or that nice girl Rose, the one you had over last week?”

 

Sansa shoved the cutting board away from herself, and stomped to the sink, dumping the dirtied knife into it. “Haven't you been saying you wished I’d spend more weekends at home?”

 

“Yes. I was.”

 

Mum’s voice was still soft. Sansa didn’t want to look at her. She had been going to tell, but now that Mum had inadvertently put her finger on the true root of Sansa’s unhappiness, things Sansa had harbored no intention of sharing with her mother, not ever, she felt more reluctant.

 

“Is that all?” Sansa rinsed her hands perfunctory in the sink and turned towards the stairs.

  
  


“For now.” 

 

“Sansa-”

 

She turned back, meeting Mum’s eyes for the first time since she had begun. They were still soft, undemanding and underwhelming in intensity.

 

“Would you like to come back down in a little while? Once I’ve got all this going properly?”

 

“Why?” It wasn’t like Mum to push or demand or try to trap, but Sansa was still a little wary. Her guesses had been far of base, but Sansa’s own reactions to her comments might have told Mum more than Sansa wanted her to know.

 

“I thought I might make some bread.”

 

“Really?” Despite herself, Sansa perked up a little. She hadn’t had Mum’s homemade bread in what felt like years, and it would be perfect tonight, with the slight chill in the air, and the thick, creamy soup-

 

“Not for tonight I’m afraid, we haven't the time. But we can make the dough, let it rise, and bake some with dinner tomorrow. I’ll make something else that should go nicely with it.”

 

“Why do you need me to do that?” It came out a little more petulant-sounding than Sansa liked, but it was true. Dad had sometimes helped her, when she had baked more often, before Rickon had been in school and she’d gone back to work. Or rather, Dad had  _ tried _ to help. Mum always chased him away, snapping a dish towel at the back of his leg, claiming he ate more than he helped. This usually culminated in a floury kiss before Dad retreated from the kitchen, a kiss that had sent a younger Sansa shrieking from the room.

 

“I don’t. Not really. If you don’t want to, you don't have to. But,” she was smiling now, pushing chunks of potato into the pot of water as she spoke to Sansa, “I always used to bake with my mother. I still use some of her recipes. Like the bread I’ll be making tonight. It helps me relieve stress sometimes, I’ve found. And I’d like to pass it along. Could you see Arya or Robb baking?”

 

The thought made Sansa giggle. Mother despaired of Robb, surviving on canned soup and frozen pizza out in the Westerlands where he was going to school. And Arya- no, she couldn’t imagine Arya doing much better. Though at least  _ she _ could use the toaster without almost burning the house down.

 

“Sure. I guess.” It wasn’t as though she had anything else to do, anywhere else to be. That thought soured her amusement some, and the smile slipped from her face as she turned back to the stairs, thumping up towards her room.

 

She paused by Arya’s door- she could hear raised voices inside. Bran must be in there with her, playing video games again, on that TV Mum and Dad had gotten Arya for her last birthday. Rickon must be there too, by the commotion inside- he always begged to be allowed to play, and they always let him eventually. He must be getting better- he liked to brag that he could beat Bran sometimes now. 

 

She made a face at the door. The only time Ayra ever asked  _ her  _ to play was when she wanted to beat someone fast, to make herself feel better about something by shoving Sansa down. That hadn’t been for ages and ages, but it wasn’t like Sansa  _ wanted _ to play anyway. Those games were stupid, if you weren't trying to kill something, you were playing dumb racing games.

 

She stomped into her room, slamming the door behind her. They wouldn't bother her then, not when they were all having a good time together, without her. Good. That was good. Mum wouldn’t let them have locks on their doors, not even when Rickon had liked to wander into their rooms early in the morning when he had been smaller. She would be undisturbed.

 

Her bag lay where she’d thrown it after school yesterday, on her desk with half the contents spilling out everywhere. Sansa shoved it all back in, letting the math textbook crumple up all the papers below it, satisfaction heavy in her gut.

 

The feeling only lasted a moment longer, before she breathed out a heavy sigh, and pulled the crumpled papers from beneath the heavy book. It was still as ugly as she remembered, bringing a grimace to her face as she smoothed it out. For all that Mr. Rosby was a halting, rambling man in his speech, his pen was concise, spiky and sharp where it slashed the big red F into existence. It was the first failing grade she’d ever gotten, and it brought a sinking feeling just looking at it.

 

“ _ I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to bring this home, Sansa, and have a parent sign it for me. Your grades are not where they should be, and I would suggest…..” _

 

Sansa threw herself onto the bed, crumpling the paper all the more in her clenched hand. She wouldn’t, they couldn't make her go into a lower set. It was bad enough here, with rumors floating around about her and a boy she barely knew. She didn’t need to be called stupid too, by teachers or students. Or former friends.

 

Pulling a pillow from under her head, Sansa pressed it over her face, letting out one long, uninterrupted screech.

  
  


\----------

  
  


“Like this?”

 

“Yes, for about five more minutes.”

 

Sansa pushed down, feeling the slight strain in her shoulders, enjoying the cool resistance under her hands. She couldn’t deny that it was somewhat relaxing, allowing her to push out the stress of her week under the steady movements of her hands. There also came some slight satisfaction in the task, born from watching Mum do this for as long as she could remember. One of her very earliest memories was sitting in the kitchen on a stool, watching Mum kneading the bread dough, just as Sansa was doing now.

 

“How do I know when it’s done?”

 

“Look here-” Mum rose to her feet, coming acount the counter to join Sansa. She paused to wash her hands, though she had done so only a few minutes before as well. Taking up a smallish ball of dough, she held it between her two hands, pinched in her fingers. “Your grandmother used to call this the windowpane test. You just-” 

 

She pulled her fingers apart, and the dough split down the middle. “When you can do that, and have the dough stretch instead of break, you know that it’s been kneaded enough.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa resumed her motions, watching out of the corner of her eye as Mum returned to sit at the counter, wiping her fingers on the seat of her jeans. “Mum?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Why do they call it the windowpane test?”

 

Mum laughed, settling back into her chair. “You know? I’m not really sure. I never asked. I suppose because the bread should be able to pull as thin as a windowpane before it breaks.”

 

She smiled across at Sansa, and she felt warm all through her stomach. The kitchen was full of fragrant steam, the pot of soup slowly bubbling. It felt a world apart from the lonely place that school had become. She even felt an urge to go up to Arya’s room after, invitation be damned, and sit on the bed to at least watch and critique.

 

“Hey, maybe we can make the pizza bread with these, like what you used to do? Remember?” Those had been her very favorite lunches a few years back, although you had to eat them fresh from the oven for it to be best.

 

“Maybe. I’ve never made those with wheat dough before.”

 

“Oh. But you’ll show me how to make those? Sometime?”

 

Mum’s smile grew wider. “I can show you how to make whatever you want.”

 

A small thought intruded on Sansa’s enthusiasm. She hated to break the mood, to bring some of the misery from school into their little bubble of happiness, but maybe now was the best time.

 

“Mum?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You weren't wrong. Earlier. I do want to ask you- to tell you something.”

 

Mum hummed under her breath, putting down her magazine. She looked wholey unsurprised. Sansa waited, but Mum only rested her chin in her palm, watching Sansa.

 

Finally, Sansa admitted it to the dough under her hands, avoiding her mother’s eye. “I’ve failed a test. At school. A math one.”

 

_ Don’t mumble. Mum hates mumbling. _

 

Clearing her throat, she started again. “It wasn’t by so many points, and Mr. Rosby says he’ll let me retake it. I just need you to sign it first.”

 

“You didn’t tell me you were having trouble in Math class.”

 

“Just a bit.” More than a bit, if truth be told. She had never been the best with numbers, but she’d always managed to scrape at least a B in the past. But this year, she had found herself getting more Cs than anything else, and this past week, when she’d forgotten all about the test, and hadn’t even studied- it hadn’t ended well.

 

“Will you let me see it?”

 

Sansa pulled the folded paper out of her back pocket with a floured hand and watched as Mother opened it, the test wrinkled from countless foldings and unfoldings, from being crumpled and smoothed back out again.

 

“You’re not mad?”

 

“I’m not exactly happy, Sansa. Your father won’t be either.”

 

“I know just- when Robb came home with that one test, you got  _ so _ mad at him.”

 

To Sansa’s surprise, Mum colored a little, and glanced down. “I should really apologize to him for that.”

 

“It was ages ago.” Sansa pushed her hands back onto the dough, looking down to try and fold it some more, like Mum had showed her earlier.

 

“Well. I should still apologize. It was a bit of a sore spot I’m afraid. It-” She glanced a little ruefully at Sansa. “Well, I felt it reflected poorly on me. A Literature professor’s son, failing high school English. It was silly of me.”

 

“Oh.” Sansa wasn’t sure what to say.

 

“We’ll have to find you a tutor.”

 

“Mum, I don’t really need one. I can just study more. I promise, I’ll study more.” She did  _ not _ want to deal with the school’s tutoring program now. Most of the tutors were older than her, In Joffrey’s year. She might  _ know _ some of them, or he might.

 

“Yes, you do. You’ll do better next year if you understand this year’s work well. It sets up a proper foundation.” Mum looked over at her. “Do you know someone? We can pay them, of course.”

 

Did she not know about the program? Maybe not- she’d been ever so busy after they’d moved, finding a new position and settling everyone into their new house. Bran and Rickon had needed help with some of  _ their _ schoolwork, but their elementary-level work was simple enough that anybody in the house could easily help them.

 

“I- yes. I do know someone.”

 

“Who?”

 

“A boy from school. I just met him. He- we did homework together one time, and- and he helped me.”

 

It wasn’t all a lie. He was in Margaery’s set in Math, Sansa knew, so he had to be good. Or at least better than Sansa herself. They  _ had _ sort of done homework together, even if he hadn’t helped her. Mostly, Clegane had glared at her, waiting for her to leave. Mum might not want a boy like that tutoring her though, and as rude as he could be, Sansa couldn’t blame her. But if Sansa organized everything, brought him on before Mum met him-

 

_ Shit. _ Would he even want to? He really did seem to hate her. 

 

Maybe. 

 

He  _ had _ laughed with her the last time they’d spoken, even if it was just at Joffrey’s expense. Maybe he would want the money. He couldn’t have much of it, if he was on scholarship.

 

Was that cruel to think? Jeyne was on scholarship, and she usually had some spending money from her parents.

 

It didn’t matter. She would just have to ask him. If he said no, he said no. Sansa could tell Mum that he didn’t have time. If he said yes, Mum would meet him for the first time when everything was set up anyway.

 

“Alright.” Mum tossed her magazine down on the counter, and rose to stir the soup. “I’ll think on it a bit, work out what we should pay. But Sansa-” She pointed the wooden spoon in her hand at her, “This friend of yours- when he’s tutoring you, the both of you should be working. No messing about or talking, you can do that on your own time. Am I understood?”

 

Sansa could hardly imagine messing about with Sandor Clegane, giggling and gossiping like she had used to do with the other girls in school. The talking- well, that hadn’t been so bad, when he’d finally started actually  _ talking _ rather than glaring.

 

“I promise Mum.” Pulling back from the mass of dough under her hands, Sansa pinched some between her fingers, and began to stretch them apart. “It’s done.”


	11. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this was supposed to be finished ages ago, but just got longer and longer. I hope it's not too clunky.

It hadn’t much surprised Sandor when, the day after that Sansa girl had spent the lunch period in the library with him, he found himself eating alone again. It hadn’t surprised him, but it did disappoint him a little. He’d liked to think on it, on how she told him she’d held out on her prick of an ex, and how it had made her draw herself up, almost in triumph.

 

What did surprise him was the following Monday, when she slipped into the study room with an over bright smile, and sat down right net to him. Well, a seat down from him, but closer than she’d ever come before. The mouthful of burger had stuck in his throat, and he’d almost choked on it before managing to get it down.

 

“What?”

 

Her fixed smile didn’t change. She only put her bag on the table, and pulled food out. It was not the sort of food that Sandor ever got- too leafy, and not filling enough by far. But then she reached in again, pulling out a rustling handful of bright cellophaned snacks, pushing them over the tabletop, towards Sandor.

 

“I got you these.”

 

He looked down at the table- it was a couple of those little cakes, the sort that came all wrapped up with sweet, stiff icing on top, or cream in the middle. Looking back up at Sansa, he saw that she was looking expectantly at him, worrying at her lip with her teeth.

 

“Aren't you gonna take them? Do you like these?”

 

What did she  _ want? _ She was just sitting there, with that bright hair in a knot on top of her head, looking at him with those big eyes of hers, waiting for something. For him to take the cakes maybe? But what did that mean?

 

“What do you want?” It came out harsher than he’d meant, but maybe that was good. The girl flinched slightly, but did not move away.

 

“Do you like these? I can get you something else if you want.”

 

What  _ he _ wanted?

 

“Who cares what I want? What-” He let the burger fall back onto the wrapping, shaking his head reaching towards the bottle of juice that had come with it. “What’re you trying to do.”

 

“I just thought-” Catching her lip between her little white teeth again, she looked at him, the last of the false cheer falling away to show that nervousness beneath. “I thought it’d be nice.”

 

“Get on with it. What do you want?”

 

He thought she might actually answer that time, but she only pushed the cakes further towards him. “Go on. I don’t really eat these. They’ll just be wasted if you don’t.”

 

Reaching for the cakes felt a little like giving in, but he was hungry. The burger was almost gone, and was not nearly big enough for him. Sansa seemed to perk up some when he took them.

 

“I wanted to ask- a favor, I guess.”

 

There it was. But just because he was eating those stupid cakes didn’t mean he had to do what she wanted. And he’d promised himself he wouldn’t, not at this school. That would just undo everything, though he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing here anyway. Even now.

 

All he knew was that he wouldn’t go back to the way it was before. No matter how much of a prick her ex was.

 

“I wanted- do you have a job?”

 

Sandor blinked. “What?”

 

What had she heard? What did she know? He’d never thought- not  _ here, _ not with all these pampered kids, most of them having never been to the lower district in their lives.

 

“A job.” She was smiling, a bit nervously, but a bit of a  _ gotcha _ smile as well.

 

“What did people tell you?”

 

She startled backwards, the smile falling a bit from her face. He’d surged forwards as the fear hit him, acid in his belly. If she knew- if they knew here- he wouldn’t, not anymore. That was why he was here, wasn’t it?

 

“ _ Nothing _ . I’m sorry, I- I just wanted to ask- I’m sorry.” Her eyes were fixed on his face, huge and unblinking. 

 

“Ask  _ what? _ ”

 

“If- if you could tutor me. In math.” She was licking her lips, pulling her unopened salad and yogurt back towards herself, pushing them back into her bag.

 

“Huh?” He froze in his chair. She couldn’t have said what he’d thought she said.

 

“Just forget I said-” She took a deep breath, drawing herself up with her bag in her hands. “I mean, if you have time. Just let me know.” She nodded a little shakily at him, and beat a hasty retreat. The door closed behind her, and in the following silence, he could hear another door close too- she must have gone into one of the other study rooms.

 

“What?” He might have thought her appearance some strange hallucination, but for the half eaten cakes that had crushed in his fist when she’d asked what she had asked. Tutor her? Him? He wasn't sure what was the most unbelievable part, that she thought he  _ could _ be a tutor, or that she wanted him to be  _ her _ tutor.

 

“ _ What? _ ” He pushed the rest of the cakes into his mouth, licking the sweet cream off of his fingers.

 

Looking down at his shiney hand, he sat there for a long moment. Abruptly, he stood, yanking open the study room door, and looking around for her. He spotted her almost immediately, in one of the bigger study rooms with the glass windows, head on her arms, though she sat up to look at him as he approached. He pushed open the door to her chosen room, and almost slammed it behind him before remembering Gilly- if he made some noise, no doubt she would come to investigate.

 

“What do you mean, tutor?”

 

“I mean tutor. Like, show me how to do the problems and stuff.”

 

“I know what tutor means, I’m not an idiot. I mean, why?”

 

She unfolded her arms, pulling the top off of her yogurt with feigned casualness. “Because my mother wants me to get one. I told you, I’m no good at math. And I saw your textbook, you’re at a higher level then me. You must know more than me. And-” She blushed here, pushing a spoonful of yogurt into her mouth as though to hide it before she continued. “And you’re on scholarship. You wouldn’t be if you didn’t have really good grades. So you’re in a higher level of math than me, and you have really good grades.”

 

Yes, but why  _ him _ ? “There's a program, you know.” They’d asked him to join it, to tutor when he’d first joined the school, but there was no way in hell he was doing  _ that _ .

 

“I know that. My friend-” She stopped here, the color rising again in her cheeks. “I mean, I know a girl named Jeyne who’s in the program. She tutors. But I didn’t ask them, I asked  _ you. _ ”

 

“Why?” He was gripping the back of the chair in front of him, the wooden edge digging into his fingers.

 

“Why should I tell you?”

 

“Because I’m your best fucking school friend remember?” He glanced behind him briefly, but Gilly was nowhere in sight. “And because I don’t do anything without knowing why.” Not that he was going to do it.

 

“Because-” She sighed, shoving another spoonful into her mouth, swallowing slowly. “I know some people in the program. So does Joffrey. Him more then me. They’re all applying to college, see, and it looks good on the applications. Just the ones not good enough to make any teams, but there’s plenty of  _ them _ . Joff knows lots of people. And I don’t  _ want _ to, OK? Mum doesn’t know about the program, and she told me I could try and find somebody.”

 

She shrugged, not looking at him. “She said we could pay, and I just thought-”

 

“I’ve already got a job.”

 

“Oh.” She glanced up then, under her lashes. Why did she have to look so fucking pretty when she did that, and at the same time remind him of that first day, of her sneaking looks at his face? “It wouldn’t take long. I just need a couple hours a week.”

 

He thought she was lying, by the way she refused to meet his eyes when she said that, but it didn’t matter anyway. “I haven't got time.”

 

He turned and left, feeling hot about the ears and neck, trying not to feel like he was running away. He stood there for a long time, when the door closed behind him, staring at the half eaten lunch sitting on the table where he’d left it.

 

Slowly, he approached the table, sinking into his abandoned chair and picking up the burger again, though the cold meat and soggy bun looked decidedly unappetizing now.

 

He didn’t have the time, even if he  _ had _ wanted. He was working most days after school, and some on the weekend too, and with the janitors in the mornings. He barely had enough time to do anything besides homework anymore- barely enough time to sleep, eat, and jerk off, let alone anything else.

 

When the bell abruptly rang, Sandor jumped, realizing that he had somehow eaten the rest of the burger, though he didn’t remember it. Chugging the rest of his juice, he shoved the uneaten orange into his pocket, scooping up his books and trash.

 

He almost walked into Sansa outside the door, like she had been waiting out there for him. She took a few quick steps back when he nearly plowed into her, looking up at him with her lip caught between her teeth.

 

“I just wanted to say- if you change your mind.”

 

She thrust a piece of paper into his hand, and walked hastily off. He followed, so that he could watch her walk past the reference desk and out of the library as he uncrumpled the note she’d given him.

 

_ Sansa Stark _ , it said- with what looked like her number after that. In pink pen for fuck’s sake, on what looked like a bit of paper torn from her notebook.

 

“Oh!”

 

He tore his eyes from the note, to see Gilly coming around the counter towards him. She was glancing towards Sansa’s retreating figure, to Sandor. The beaming grin on her face was as bright as he’d even seen her wear, and it took him aback.

 

“I told you. You’d make friends, if you just tried.”

 

Sandor suddenly realized how quiet the library was, that she must have head Sansa’s words just now. The piece of paper in his hand suddenly felt red hot, and he crumpled it in his fist, shoving it hastily into his back pocket.

 

“I didn’t- it wasn’t-” The grin on her face only grew as he stammered, unable to find the words. “Just- just  _ shut up. _ ”

 

He strode away, avoiding her eyes. Shit, shit, shit. Had he needed to add that last bit? She could tell the principle if she wanted. If Tarly was here, he surely would. But he hadn’t seen the fat man here today, and he was difficult to miss. And Gilly seemed determined to like him, however studiously he ignored her. But he’d never been rude to her like that before. She might say something.

 

Wheeling back around, he shoved his way through the glass doors back into the library, just as Gilly-  _ Miss Freesia, Miss Freesia _ \- was going back behind her round desk. “Hey- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- please don’t-”

 

“I know you didn’t mean it, Sandor. It’s all right.” She was still smiling at him, in that way that made him feel too exposed. Back at his old school, he hadn’t had to apologize to anybody, not since he’d grown some. He fiddled with his books for a moment, before abruptly turning away and leaving again, letting the doors crash shut behind him.

  
  


\-------

  
  


Gym went quickly, and Math went even quicker. He’d gotten his test back, and couldn’t help but think of her words when he saw the grade he’d gotten, his best yet, and he never did poorly in this class.

 

_ You’re on scholarship. You wouldn’t be if you didn’t have really good grades. So you’re in a higher level of math than me, and you have really good grades…. _

 

He tried to pay attention. This teacher wasn’t even half bad- she didn’t try and stop him from doing other homework, when he was done with classwork, anyway. She didn’t put you to sleep talking either. He saw, at the front of the class, the girl with the long, long brown hair glance at him, whispering something to the blonde beside him. She’d tried talking with him once, for ages and ages, ignoring the hint he’d been trying to give with his silence.

 

_ None of my friends will talk to me anymore… _

 

Was she bloody lonely, was that it? But what girl would come to him for company? Not that he’d turn her down if she asked. He snickered at the thought, and saw the brown haired girl glance up at him again, lips pursed as though in thought. Not that he would turn her down if she asked, Sansa Stark who wrote her name in pink bloody pen. Half the school thought they were fucking anyway. Maybe she thought she could take the rumors and make them her own. Take the opportunity to go a little crazy, like some girls did when word got out about them, true or not-

 

The bell rang before his little fantasy could become any more interesting. That was probably a good thing. Walking around the school with a hard-on never ended well, and there wasn’t enough time to slip into the bathroom before his last class of the day.

  
  


\-------

  
  


“Hey!”

 

He blinked, becoming aware that Mya was standing in front of him, snapping her fingers in his face.

 

“I asked you to get those tiles for Aiden, he should be here soon. That new lock he ordered too. Jesus, what’s with you today?”

 

She was standing, eyebrow raised and arms akimbo. She was wearing a black vest top, sleeveless and low-cut despite the cold drizzle outside.  Mychel must be picking her up today. He couldn’t help but to sneak a look down her top, playing the old game, ‘Are They Pierced’, that had only gotten more interesting since they’d started working together. She just rolled her eyes at him, so maybe he wasn’t being as subtle as he thought.

 

“Sorry.”

 

He turned, leaning the broom against the wall to trudge to the back room, where they had Aiden’s order ready. The boxes of tile were heavy, and it cleared his mind some to lug them to the counter, and then to the man’s car once he’d seen fit to arrive. The guy even gave him a fiver for his trouble. It was nice up here- he’d never come up to this area much before. No need. It was lots shittier just a few blocks down. People were nicer here.

 

He got to watch Mya primping for her date before they closed up- she always did that, though they couldn’t be going somewhere nice all the time. For all he knew, all they did was fuck in Mychel’s car. But he didn’t mind, if he got to watch her get ready. He even thought she liked it, Sandor looking. She always seemed to bend over, anyway, giving him a good look at her cleavage, though any glints of metal were yet to be seen.

 

After they closed, he sat in his car for a bit, watching as the headlight of Mychel’s car came, and Mya came running out, locking the door behind her as she did so. The lights joined the rest of the traffic on the road, and he watched the familiar flash of headlights sweeping by.

 

Giving in, he reached behind him for the bag. There would be no more food at home, even if that meant no more hot food. Sandor was never home anymore, except to sleep. He found he liked it that way.

 

There was some bread, and a big container of marshmallow fluff. He’d gotten that as a treat, but found he didn’t want the sweetness anymore, not after those cakes the Stark girl had given him. He didn't want a banana either, but ate one anyway, and then another. He’d just gotten them yesterday, but they wouldn’t last long, not in the rapidly cooling weather.

 

He signed, chucking the peels on the passenger seat to deal with in the morning.

 

Locking the car behind him, he began the walk home. The air was actually stinging his face a little bit- the air and the rain, which had grown more steady. He’d have to do it tonight then. He’d been putting it off for ages, but tonight would be better, maybe. There’d been a game on yesterday, and the pair of them might still be out for the count.

 

There were lights glowing in the house, and the sound of the TV floated out through the broken kitchen window when he approached, but that didn’t mean anything. Sandor skirted round the new car in the driveway- new only in that he’d never seen it before. It was in worse shape even than Sandor’s, and sometimes he wondered how the hell his own car kept running.

 

It was warmer in the kitchen when he let himself in, but not by much. The power wasn’t off, so probably Dad just hadn’t bothered with heat. Sandor briefly wondered about looking for something else to eat, but discarded the idea. Probably the only food in the house was the leftover pizza on the counter, and Dad would know if he took some. Might come screaming out into the shed again about ‘stealing food’, or something like that. Something along those lines would happen eventually, when the cold drove him back into the house, but he’d rather put it off as long as he could. He  _ knew _ he could take Dad if he tried, and Dad knew it too. But if Gregor decided to join in-

 

He shook his head. Counter was filthy anyway, and who knew how long that had been sitting there.

 

He tightened his grip on his school bag as he slipped into the living room. The chunky TV was playing some shit game show, and Dad was staring fixedly at it, can of beer clutched in his hand as he slumped in his ratty old armchair. He was wearing only a t-shirt, despite the chill of the room, and Sandor stood there watching him, waiting to be seen. Gregor was nowhere in sight.

 

After a moment, Dad whirled around, cursing as he sloshed beer over the back of his hand. Sandor sometimes felt he was staring at an older version of himself when he looked at his dad, one gone to shit. He was still a powerful man, but big slabs of fat weighed down his arms and thickened his waist. His hair was as black as Sandor’s own, but shorter and thinner, leaving the crown of his head peeking through at the top. He’d figured out once that Dad was only thirty-nine, but he looked at least ten years older. He stared blearily at Sandor for a long moment, sucking the beer off of his fingers. Then, he settled back into his armchair with a grunt, turning back to stare unseeingly at the screen again. So he was too hungover to bitch about Sandor coming in here. Good.

 

The door to Gregor’s room was partially open, and he averted his eyes as he dodged into his own. That door was open as well, though he’d left it closed the last time he’d come in here. The dresser drawers hung open, all his shirts tossed around and hanging over the edge. His closet gaped open as well, empty but for a small pile of clothes in the corner.

 

Glancing at the door, Sandor listened for a long moment. There had been movement in Gregor’s room, he had seen that much. Over the crackly sounds of the over-enthusiastic show host, Sandor could hear faint rhythmic grunts, and now that he was listening for it, a hefty creaking of beadsprings. So he had a few minutes.

 

Rifling through the clothes on the floor of the closet, Sandor cursed under his breath. It wasn’t in the shed, he knew that. So it  _ had _ to be here. They wouldn’t have taken it, he didn’t think. It would be too tight on either of them, and if it was a bit too short for Sandor, it would be far too small for Gregor.

 

He shoved through the dresser drawers himself, even though he knew it wasn’t in there, messing with the contents. While he was at it, he shoved the last of his clean clothes into his bag too, his only other pair of jeans, all the shirts, socks and underwear. He had the car now. He could keep them in there. The crumpled sweatshirt on the floor was dirty, had been stepped on by the faint boot print on it, but he pulled it on anyway. He couldn’t afford to be picky, if he couldn’t find what he was looking for.

 

His sorting through the drawers had become an almost absent minded shuffling. All that was left in there was crap he’d collected over the years; written-in notebooks, shoes that didn’t fit him anymore, that playboy he’d stolen from Dad years back, and looked at so much he’d gotten sick of it- nothing that mattered anymore.

 

Suddenly, he paused. He bet it was- it had to be.

 

Shoving the drawer closed, Sandor reached over and swung the door to the room closed as well, sighing in relief when he saw the jacket hanging over the hook on the back. He slipped it on, and found that it fit him even less that it had the year prior- he couldn’t quite close it anymore, not with the hoodie on under it. All his clothes were getting like that. The only two pairs of jeans that still fit him were too big around the waist, and getting too short in the leg. At least his sneakers still fit.

 

While he was in here, he took a quick look around- there was nothing much. Most of his stuff was already in the shed. The mattress was bare, the closet empty, and the bedside table held only a small lamp with no bulb. But one thing had been hiding behind the door.

 

He grinned as he looked at it, the stop sign he’d taken ages ago. He’d been drunk that night, one of the very first times he’d gotten truly destroyed, and woken with an aching head the next morning. But he’d somehow managed to get it out of it’s base, and had taken it all the way to the Bender’s place. Matt Bender was in Sandor’s year, even if he was two years older, and had thought he could beat him up for some reason. Sandor had shown  _ him _ . Then his cunt of a mother had thought to screech at him when they’d passed on the street, call him an animal, even though her precious Matt had thrown the first punch. It had felt good to swing the sign at their mailbox, swing it and swing it until the whole thing had crumpled. He had almost wanted someone to see him and come out, but no one had. Matt had never bothered him at school again though.

 

Picking up the sign, Sandor leaned it against his shoulder as he exited the room, hitching his bag up onto his forearm. He paused to glance towards the other open door as he moved back into the hallway. Gregor was up overtop some girl that Sandor didn’t recognize. Her skin had a gray, ashy tone, and her head lolled over the edge of the bed with her eyes closed. Probably cracked out of her mind. Sandor snorted- good. Probably wouldn’t want to remember anyway.

 

Gregor looked up at the sound, his heavy features forming into a scowl when he saw Sandor. Pushing himself further up over the girl, he reared off the bed, and swung a hand almost blindly, catching the edge of the door hard enough to slam it shut. It bounced back open again. Sandor turned away, hearing Gregor curse, and another crack of his hand against the door.

 

He thought briefly of taking a quick shower while Gregor was otherwise occupied, but it wasn’t worth the risk. The last time he’d tried that, Gregor had chucked his clothes outside in the snow, just to watch Sandor chase after them, naked, and slamming his shins into every bit of car that was scattered around the yard. He hadn't even realized until after that he’d stepped on a broken bottle, his feet had been so cold. It had taken ages to pick all that that out. Had hurt like a bitch too, when he’d warmed up some. So he just walked past Dad, still staring aimlessly at the television, back out into the rain.

 

Hauling all his shit into the shed, he locked the door behind him. Gregor probably wouldn’t try to fuck with him tonight, not with the coked up girl to occupy him, and not with all he’d probably had to drink last night, if the bottles and cans scattered around the living room were any indication. Dad and Gregor usually managed to get along when there was a game on.

 

Sandor wasted no time wriggling out of his damp jeans, and into his sleep clothes. The jacket was  _ almost  _ able to zip up with the sweatshirt off, but not quite. Cursing to himself, he shucked it off. It was hard finding stuff that fit him- he’d have to go back to the thrift store again, and he’d been lucky enough to find this one there. Everything else was too short, and the ones that fit him best lengthwise were always made for fat men.

 

Checking the padlock again, Sandor arranged the stop sign by the door, where he could look at it from the lawn chair. It was almost cold enough to pile some more of the blankets overtop of him, but not quite. He pulled the sweatshirt on again, even though it smelled like shit.

 

Crossing his arms behind his head, he stared at that stop sign again. Red. Red like that Sansa girl’s hair. Only it wasn’t really. Her hair was more orange-colored. Like a new penny. 

 

Or like fire.

 

Letting his eyes drop from the sign, he shifted uncomfortably, trying to dig himself deeper into the pocket of warmth that was forming around him, without his letting his feet poke out the other end.

 

Tutor. Like he’d ever tutored anyone before. Like he’d tutor her. He felt a little curl of heat as his mind drifted back to that fantasy he’d concocted earlier, but that didn’t last long. He was too tired, too pissed at the thought of having to scrub more fucking toilets in the morning. He was almost tempted to dig into the pile of rubble at the very back of the shed, where he had a bottle of whiskey stowed away. It was shit whiskey, but it would work well enough.

 

No. He might sleep in tomorrow, and  _ then _ he’d be in trouble. He lay in the dark for a long moment, waiting for sleep to come. A long slow thought at the back of his mind wouldn’t leave him alone though- he scowled, trying to work out what it was that was bothering him.

 

It was just then that it hit him. He sat bolt upright, quilt falling off his chest and shoulders to pool in his lap. Staring at the faint line of light beneath the shed door, his mind whirling, Sandor felt his lips forming silent curses.

 

That was it. He’d almost missed it, and she’d hand-fucking delivered it to him, dropped a golden opportunity into his lap and he’d been stupid enough not to see it.

 

Leaning off the lawn chair, he fumbled in the darkness until his hand hit the heavy denim of his jeans, grabbed a handful, and drew it close enough to thrust his hands into the pockets.

 

Eventually, he got it all out, and using the faint light from his phone, Sandor painstakingly unfolded the damp scrap of paper she’d given him. It was translucent and a little smeared, but there it was- her name and number in that pink pen. 

 

He had almost finished plugging her info into his phone when he paused. Maybe this was a stupid idea. If he did it, he wanted just her.  _ She _ was alright, for a girl like that. He didn’t want to put up with those others.

 

But maybe-

 

Gilly. Gilly would help. She was so freaking invested in him finding  _ friends _ , or some shit, that he bet she would help if he asked.

 

Before he could change his mind, he shot her a quick text, fingers clumsy on the little buttons. Letting the phone drop onto his chest, he waited to see if she would respond.

 

This had better work out. He was getting fucking sick of toilets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I read this over a few times, but I get tunnel vision when I've been looking at something for too long. If anybody sees any obvious errors, give me a heads up?
> 
> Let me know what you think? I like the beginning and the end, but couldn't get the middle smooth enough too make me happy, although I did feel it was important. Maybe I shouldn't have gone into such detail, making it so long. Thoughts?


	12. Sansa

Jeyne was ignoring her again. Sansa had sat in the seat right behind her, right behind what had once been  _ their _ spot. She had come over last night, and Sansa had been giddy enough with it that she’d actually let her in. They’d sat in Sansa’s room, eating candy on the bed, and talking and talking. It had almost felt like nothing had ever happened between them- like they were still back in Winterfell, before Joffrey and Margaery had ever existed.

 

They’d been doing each other's hair- not serious, just putting it unto as many tiny braids as they could, and winding it all together- when Sansa had suddenly asked, shattering the mood.

 

“Jeyne-”

 

“Mmmm?” Jeyne had been doubled over, stretching for the hair bands that were in Sansa’s nightstand, that Jeyne  _ knew _ were in there from countless sleepovers.

 

“So- what’s up?”

 

Jeyne pulled back, settling back onto Sansa’s quilt with a handful of the hair ties. “What do you mean?” Her tone was light and conversational. But they had been friends for far too long, and Sansa had known at once that Jeyne understood her.

 

Maybe she should have kept quiet, let the casual mood continue, enjoyed really hanging out with her best friend since it had happened.

 

But she hadn’t kept quiet. In fact, she’d kept pushing. “You  _ know _ what I mean. With Margie and all.” Sansa had waited for a minute, hoping that she would say something- anything. When she didn’t, Sansa whirled around, pulling her hair from Jeyne’s grasp. “How  _ could _ you? I’m supposed to be your best friend-”

 

“How could I what,” Jeyne had snapped, hugging her knees to her chest.

 

“How could you believe all that stuff that they’re saying- that Joff and Margie are saying-”

 

“I don’t- San, you’ve got to believe me, I don’t!”

 

“Really?” Sansa had felt the hope flare up in her then, when Jeyne had grabbed her hands, looked so earnestly at her.

 

“Of course not! Come on, how long have I known you? I know you wouldn’t.”

 

“Oh-” Sansa had pulled her into a hug, and for a long moment, all had felt right. Then she’d pulled back, looking harder at Jeyne. “But if you didn’t- why won't you talk to me? At school? Why do you still hang out with Margie and all them?”

 

“You know why.” The color had risen in Jeyne’s cheeks, and she had gotten to her feet, stalking over to her purse hanging over the back of Sansa’s desk chair.

 

“No, I don’t.”

 

“Because- because they’ll maybe start saying stuff about me if I don’t.”

 

“Oh-” Sansa took a deep shuddering breath, but that did nothing to stop the anger rising in her, did nothing to take away the need to hit back, to hurt Jeyne the way she’d been hurt. “You know that's not true. You know that Margie doesn’t _ care _ enough to make up things about you. And no one would believe anyway, you’re too boring for that.”

 

Jeyne took a stuttering step back, as though Sansa had shoved her. “Shut up! You don’t know anything.”

 

“I know lots of things!” Sansa was nearly shouting now, standing up off the bed herself. “I know all Joffrey ever cared about was sex, and Margie sucks, so she can have him. She can have you too, I don’t care!”

 

The door had slammed on her last words, and she heard Jeyne dashing down the stairs, heard the startled voice of her mother, who had come upstairs not long after, to ask what all the commotion was about.

 

Now, Jeyne sat slumped forward in her seat, so that all Sansa could see was the back of her head. Her hair was pulled up in a tight ponytail. Sansa watched the sway of it as the bus moved. Jeyne had always been envious of Sansa’s hair, had tried to dye her own that color once, but it had all come out wrong and had looked horrible.

 

Sansa shook her head, looking down into her own lap. She’d been lucky- she wouldn’t have to stop off at her locker today. She had all the things for English in her lap already. She’d have to hurry if she was going to talk to Clegane before class. His text had come long after Jeyne had gone home last night, when Sansa had been moodily watching cartoons with Rickon.

 

It had been simple enough, just asking if they could talk at school the next day, but it had lifted her mood regardless. He must have reconsidered then. She’d tapped out a quick acquiescence, and after a brief hesitation, had asked if this was Sandor from school. His brief reply, ‘ _ yes’ _ , had come quick enough that she could almost here the underlying ‘ _ duh’ _ behind it.

 

When the doors to the bus opened, Sansa got up quickly, shoving past Jeyne before she could get out of her own seat, exiting the bus and jogging towards the school. He had to already be there- he was always there first, even before Sansa. She had no one to talk to in the mornings now.

 

Even though Sansa had run all the way from the bus, he was still there first. Panting, she dropped into the seat next to him.

 

“Hey.”

 

He sat up with a jerk, and Sansa realized that he must have been sleeping. He grimaced, swiping a hand over his eyes.

 

“So- so did you want to talk?”

 

“Yeah.” He still wasn’t looking at her. “I’ll do it.”

 

“Will you?” She couldn't help but smile, bouncing a little in her seat. So no program, no boys laughing at her-

 

“Come over if you like, after school. We can talk to my Mum. I don’t remember what she said we’d pay, but-”

 

“We’re doing this in school. Through that one program.” He’d finally turned to face her, and Sansa could see red imprints on his unmarred cheek, where it had been pressed into his sleeve.

 

“Oh.” Sansa felt her smile fade. He was watching her almost searchingly. Not like he had that one time, when she’d crossed her arms over her chest and tried not to squirm under his gaze. His eyes looked no lower than her face. “But- but you don't get to pick your tutor. It’s random, I thought.”

 

He actually looked a bit uncomfortable as he replied. “I sort of- I know the librarian, I guess. She’s the one who does all that shit-” He glanced towards Mrs. Martin, where she was writing on the board, but she didn’t turn. “-matches up the tutors and stuff. She said she could swing it.”

 

“Oh.” It felt a little awkward, the silence that followed.

 

He frowned over at her, mouth twisting. She remembered that look. “Fuck, you don’t have to look like I just- I dunno.”

 

“I didn’t mean- I just don't know why we can’t do this like I wanted.” Was he trying to make them be alone? Did he want- it hadn't seemed like he would try and take advantage of the rumors, even just by word. 

 

“Cause if we do it like this,” He snapped, “ I don’t have to come in so goddamn early, OK? If I’m a tutor, I don’t have to work with the janitors and get locked in closets with girls like you.”

 

“Girls like me? What’s that mean?” She scooted a little away from him, pulling the stack of books towards herself. 

 

“Nothing. Just- you don’t have to spend  _ that _ much time with me, OK? You only have to do a few hours a week to be a tutor, so you don't need to get all pissed about it.”

 

“I don’t care about that.”

 

“Why?” He was glaring over at her, hunched over so that his chin was resting on his arms.

 

“I don't mind you, you know. You’re alright when you’re not acting like a complete dick.”

 

“Oh.” It was his turn to look nonplussed now, as though he didn’t know what to say. “I guess you're alright too. When you’re not being all stuck up.”

 

“When was I ever stuck up? To you, I mean?”

 

He didn’t seem to have an answer for that. Sansa just shrugged, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. Suddenly, she realized that the classroom had been filling up while they had been speaking. Looking around the room, she saw Rose looking over unabashedly, eyes round. She looked away when Sansa caught her eyes, sitting down next to some boys that Sansa didn’t know and staring at the whiteboard.

 

Sansa caught her lip between her teeth, glancing around. Oh- shit. Addam was there, grinning over at her. It was getting harder and harder to avoid him. She didn't have anybody to walk with anymore, and there was nobody to come and save her when he wouldn’t leave her alone. It was like the first month of school all over again, only even worse. At least then she’d had Jeyne. Now, Addam kept catching her up in the hallways, trying to put his arm around her, slip his hand into her back pocket. Yesterday, he hadn’t been alone either. There had been two more boys that Sansa didn’t even know, who were asking her out with big grins on their face, asking if she wanted to  _ skip class _ with them.

 

“Hey-” She looked around at the boy beside her. Everyone was a little nervous around him- his size, his scars, and the way he spoke all made him seem tough, even though he hadn’t really done anything yet to earn the reputation. “Mind if I sit here?”

 

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

 

She flushed. “I mean- for class.”

 

He looked at her for a long time, and Sansa tried not to look at his scars. She had been concentrating so hard that she almost jumped when he spoke. “Thought you wanted to keep a low profile. So nobody would believe what they’re saying.”

 

“Most of them believe it anyway, no matter what I do.” She scowled, remembering the boys. They’d been touching her hair. “So- so fuck them.”

 

Sandor actually laughed at then, a loud one that made half the class look over at them, and had Sansa suppressing a smile despite herself. “Now you’re getting it, princess.”


	13. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This here's a short one. I'll try to get the next one out tomorrow or the day after.

Why was he nervous? This was all set, Gilly had said so. No more cleaning, he would actually be able to sleep to a decent fucking time. And all he had to do was spend a few hours a week showing some rich girl how to do Algebra. It would be easy. More than easy, unless she was just that stupid. And she didn’t  _ seem _ like an idiot. So what was it?

 

Squaring his shoulders, Sandor walked past the desk, avoiding Gilly’s eye. She had practically preened when he’d asked her to set it up, and he was sure that she thought that it was all due to her that he had a fucking  _ friend _ now. As though that was what that girl was.

 

Pushing his way into the study room, he dropped his bag onto the table with a thump. She was already there, textbook and notebook already laid out in front of her. But she had a sandwich in her hand, a bottle of iced tea at her elbow. She looked up at his approach, covering her mouth with one hand.

 

“Oh-” She swallowed, taking a sip of her drink. “I thought we’d eat first, since we don’t have much time.”

 

That didn’t make much sense to him. That would be  _ wasting _ time. But whatever. If all he had to do was eat his lunch and do a few problems, that was even better. “Sure.” 

 

Sitting down opposite her, he tore into the burger. It went down far too quickly. Swallowing the milk to wash it down, he caught the Stark girl’s eye. “What?”

 

“Hungry?”

 

“Maybe.” Scowling, he peeled the banana roughly. So what if he was hungry? Not everybody could survive on air and lettuce. “So. What are we doing?”

 

“I thought we could look at my homework, and you could show me what I’m doing wrong.”

 

Of course. She wanted him to do her homework for her. 

 

She sat watching him for a moment. Realizing what she wanted, he finished the banana, shoved the peel into his pocket, and quickly circled the table to sit next to her. To Sandor’s surprise, the worksheet she was showing him was already completed, with red marks littering the front. 

 

“See? I just don’t  _ get _ this. Mr. Rosby says I can retake my test tomorrow, so I want to at least work out what I’m doing wrong.”

 

“OK.” He was oddly disappointed. It had been on the tip of his tongue, what he’d been going to say about rich girls not having to do their own homework. He looked at the paper for a long moment. It was hard to see the actual problems. Half of them had thick red slashes through, and she had scribbled her work in the margins, almost at random.

 

“Here-” He reached over the table, dragging his bag closer, pulling out a notebook. He could rip the page out later. “Write out one of these problems and do it again, and I’ll do it too, so we can look at them. I can’t read any of that shit.”

 

“Good idea.” Sansa circled one of the problems, and began to scratch it out into her notebook. Sandor did the same. It was easy stuff. He finished quickly, and sat watching her as she stared at the problem, brow furrowed. She kept glancing at the worksheet, as though that would help. This was one of the problems she’d got wrong.

 

“I bet half the problem is Rosby.” 

 

“Really?” She glanced up at him, and Sandor suddenly realized how close they were sitting, side by side. Close enough to touch her if he wanted.

 

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Miss Fossoway is loads better. She explains stuff instead of just lecturing you. I mean- you should’ve gotten some credit for doing the work, but he just took everything off. And he’s boring as fuck.”

 

She laughed at that, grinning sidelong at him before returning to her work. Sandor shifted in his chair. His lunch felt as though it were squirming in his stomach.

 

“So you like math then?”

 

“It’s alright.” He was good at it, anyway.

 

“I bet you have class with Margie. She’s in all the honors classes.” Sansa made a face at him, pencil pinched between her fingers like a chopstick. “She’s so-”

 

“Did you want to do any  _ math _ anytime soon?”

 

The color in her cheeks darkened, and she ducked her head. “Right. Sorry.”

 

For a few long moments, there was nothing but the scratching of her pencil, her head bowed over her work. When she pushed her notebook towards him, she wrinkled her nose again. “I bet I got it wrong.”

 

She had. “Look-” Sandor pushed his own notebook at her. She squinted down at the page.

 

“Can you write this down, like, in steps?”

 

“Fine.” He pulled the notebook back and took up his pencil again. Were you supposed to do that, in tutoring? Probably. That was what teachers did, when they wrote all this on the board, and tutors were sort of teachers.

 

“So I was saying.” Sandor glanced over at her. She was playing with all that hair. It fell thickly over her shoulders, and she had separated one strand, twisting it around her finger. She wasn’t looking at him. “Margie’s in your class I think. She said she tried to talk to you once.”

 

Christ. Would she ever stop talking about people he didn’t know about, or care about? Except her cunt of an ex. He didn’t mind when she talked about  _ him _ .

 

“What, she’s got-” Sandor looked down at the paper. How simple should he go? He started writing it out sort of how teachers did. Only maybe that wouldn't help. She had a teacher who did that, and she was still getting shit grades. “Lots of hair? Brown? That’s the girl what’s-his-face is going out with now, right?” If that was her, he fucking remembered her. 

 

“Yeah, that’s her.” Sansa was looking at Sandor now, rather than at the paper he was writing on. “She’s the prettiest girl in our year. Everyone says so. She and Joff go past my house every morning in his new car. And that’s not on the way to the gate, so I think they’re doing in on purpose.”

 

Sandor rolled his eyes. Of course. Blonde rich kids with rich girlfriends with too much hair. Always had to have a new bloody car. That prick had totalled it, Sansa had told him, and now he had a new one. Just like that. “She sounds like a bitch. And she’s  _ not _ the prettiest girl in the whole school, even if she thinks she is.”

 

_ He _ wouldn’t touch her with a ten foot pole. She always had this look on her face like she’d just sucked on a lemon, and she’d looked at him like he was some bug she was poking under a microscope.

 

“Thanks.” She was smiling at him, like he’d just done something nice.

 

Sandor shrugged, hunching his shoulders. “It’s true.” He shoved the notebook over to her, to make her look at something else.


	14. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about this chapter's delay. I spent the weekend moving so. Much. Shit. Into a truck. My body is still in recovery, lol.

“Could I have some more, please?”

 

“Of course you can. You helped make it, didn’t you?” Mother was smiling at her, but the smile was a little questioning. A talk-to-me smile. Officer Poole was at dinner tonight, talking with Father and Robb at the end of the table. Jon was here tonight as well, hanging onto their every word. He had come to stay the weekend along with Robb, and the full house should be making Sansa feel happy. It was almost like they had gone back in time a year. Robb was here, with his familiar grin, Bran was eating dinner here instead of at the Reed’s for once- even Jon’s presence only added to the feeling of family. He had only lived with them for a few years before starting college, but he had become almost like another brother in that time. Certainly, he looked like one. Sitting next to Father, the resemblance was striking. Even the way he stroked his chin with one hand as he listened. Aunt Lyanna had looked something like Father in the old pictures. There was nothing of Uncle Rhaegar in Jon’s face.

 

“Sansa?”

 

“Hmm?” She turned to look back at her mother, realizing that the chicken had grown cold on her fork.

 

“I was just saying that you’re awfully quiet tonight.”

 

It was a wonder that Mum could even notice. The other end of the table might be engaged in quiet conversation, but the middle was in complete chaos. Arya was squabbling with Bran about something or other, and Rickon was egging on each one in turn. Arya had tried to drag first Jon and then Robb into the argument, but both had held out. They wouldn’t bother Mother with whatever it was, and Sansa doubted they would turn to her. Arya had been avoiding talking to her for ages, and Rickon at least tended to mimic her.

 

Sansa shrugged. She didn’t feel like explaining. Mum probably had an inkling anyway- when Vayne Poole came to dinner, he almost always brought Jeyne along with him, especially if his wife couldn’t come. He’d come alone tonight.

 

She pushed the fork into her mouth, chewing a bit laboriously. Mum might say that it had come out perfect, but the chicken tasted a little dry to Sansa. But then, she was having just the chicken and vegetables. No sauce, no noodles.

 

“You’re not eating much either. You haven't been lately.” Sansa tried not to roll her eyes. “Are you feeling alright?”

 

“I’m fine, Mum. I just have a lot of homework, and I-” She glanced towards Arya, but she was tugging on Jon’s arm again, not paying the least amount of attention to either of them. “I’ve been breaking out, is all. I’m just trying to eat better.”

 

“Just make sure that you’re eating enough.” 

 

Sansa nodded, spearing some more meat on the end of her fork. She didn’t feel quite satisfied yet, and her plate was almost empty again. But she didn’t want to stay at the table. The noise was grating on her, and the sidelong glance that Jeyne’s dad had given her when she’d sat down was enough to make her want to get right back up again. It was silly. Jeyne wouldn’t have said anything to her parents any more than Sansa would have. But still.

 

Mother was opening her mouth again, and Bran had turned towards them, twirling his fork through the pasta as Arya and Rickon bickered behind him. Sansa spoke quickly, before Mother could.

 

“Did I tell you, we had another Math quiz?”

 

“You didn’t. How did you do?” Mum had cleaned her own plate as well, putting down her fork.

 

“I did pretty well. I got an 82.” Sansa kept her voice neutral, but she had been thrilled the other day when she’d gotten her results. It was miles better than it had been.

 

“Wonderful!” Mother smiled, the fine lines bracketing her mouth deepening as she did so. “And you did so well when you retook the last one. This will raise your grade, won’t it?”

 

“A little. The test at the end of the month is worth more.” The thought made her a little nervous- it was one thing to do better now, this was mostly stuff that they’d sort of done before, at the end of last year. The next unit would be all new.

 

“You got a good tutor then?” Bran was shoveling food into his mouth, as though to make up for all that that he had not eaten when he’d been shouting at Arya. He washed it down with a gulp of water. Mum opened her mouth, then closed it again. Sansa thought that she’d given up trying to instill table manners in Bran, though she still kept Rickon firmly in hand.

 

“Yes, she did. I didn’t know the school had such a good tutoring program. Nothing like Winterdown.” She eyed Sansa over the rim of her glass, as she took a sip. “I mentioned it to Jeyne’s mother the other day. She said that Jeyne’s in the program. As a tutor.”

 

Sansa tried not to make a face. Her last conversation with Jeyne still rankled. “May I please be excused?” It gave her some small satisfaction to see Mother shoot Bran a side-eyed glance, as though to say  _ see? Those are manners. _

 

But then Mum turned back to her. “No ice cream?”

 

Sansa shook her head. “Maybe later. I have homework to do.”

 

Rising to her feet, she paused as Bran got up as well. He had eaten so quickly that it made Sansa sick just to think of it. “Me too?”

 

“Bran-” Mother shook her head. “Alright. Just, the two of you come down later, hmm? Jon and Robb will only be here another day.”

 

“Yes Mum.” Sansa allowed Bran to go ahead of her. He moved very quickly for a boy on crutches, taking the stairs almost too fast for her. He hadn’t fallen in years, but Mum always liked to have someone walking behind him. Just in case.

 

When he made for his door, Sansa caught his shoulder. “Hey- are you OK, Bran?” 

 

She knew his legs still pained him, especially when he’d been walking a lot. He didn’t always tell Mother, because she’d make him take the pills. Bran hated the pills.

 

“I’m fine.” When she didn’t move her hand, Bran rolled his eyes. His hair was getting long enough to almost flop over them now, but he refused to cut it. “I said I’m fine, Sansa. Really.”

 

His door closed behind him with a thunk. Sansa went into her own room, only a little troubled by it. He had physical therapy in the morning, and they would know if he was pushing things.

 

She sat down at her desk for a long moment, staring down at the pile of hair and makeup things. She wished that she could push it all off, watch the perfume and hair gel spatter stickily over the carpet. It reminded her too much of the last time she’d used it all. And that reminded her of-

 

Biting her lip, Sansa flopped over the bed, stretching on her stomach to reach the phone on her nightstand. She’d left it in here on purpose, but it hadn’t helped much. She’d still been thinking about it.

 

_ Hey _

 

That was all it said. Just those three letters. Sansa had deleted his number in a fit of defiance after she’d found out what he’d told everyone, about what he and Margie had done, but she hadn’t thought to block it. Maybe she should now.

 

Or maybe she should answer. There were lots of things she could say.

 

_ What do you want. _

 

_ How could you be so cruel. _

 

_ Leave me alone, you stupid piece of- _

 

Sansa pushed the phone aside, staring at the ceiling of her room. There were stars up there, glow in the dark ones. She had begged for them years and years ago, when Arya had still been small and Bran was barely more than a baby. It had taken her by surprise when Dad had pulled them out of a box when they’d moved, and he and Robb had spent an hour balanced on step ladders to put them in place. She’d almost wanted to tell him he didn’t have to, she wasn’t a kid anymore. She didn’t need them. But he’d looked so proud to have remembered, and if she was being completely honest, she still sort of liked them.

 

The swish of her door over the carpet had Sansa sitting up, blinking in surprise as Arya learned through. She had one own of ice cream in hand, and one pinned to her hip by an elbow.

 

“Here.” She held one out to Sansa. She swung her legs out of bed, standing up to walk over. She took the bowl automatically, watching as Arya nearly dropped the other.

 

“I thought-” Arya was still hovering half in the hallway. “D’you want to watch something?”

 

“Watch- something?”

 

“Yeah.” Arya was acting as though nothing had happened, as though she hadn’t been ignoring Sansa for ages. But even then, Arya didn’t usually watch anything with her. She said all Sansa’s shows were stupid.

 

“What?”

 

“I dunno.” Arya shrugged. “We can watch that soap you like, if you want. We can use my TV, that’s better than your laptop.”

 

“Sure.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. So she just followed Arya across the fallway into her room. Arya shut the door behind them, and Sansa sank to the ground in front of the TV. There was still cushions and blankets there, there always were until Mother saw them and made Arya pick them up. Sansa pulled one of the blankets into her lap, a fuzzy blue one, and let her bowl of ice cream rest on top. Arya settled down next to her. They sat in silence, Sansa watching Arya flick through the options until she found what they were looking for.

 

She settled back, looking around the room as the theme played. It looked like there were even more posters in here than there’d been before- probably Jon had brought her some as a present. They’d always gotten on so well. She had heard him say to Arya yesterday that if she got permission, he’d take her to her first concert over winter break, as a birthday present. Would he take Sansa if she asked? Not that she’d want to go to see one of those loud bands that Arya liked, all screaming and no real  _ music, _ no matter what Arya said.

 

Sansa shook her head, settling back and taking a spoonful of the ice cream. Arya had put chocolate syrup on top, and it was smooth and rich on her tongue.

 

She had seen this episode before, just like she’d seen all the episodes before. It was soothing to watch characters she knew well go through their predictable rounds. She almost choked on her next spoonful, breaking out into giggles at the joke she already knew. But it was still funny.

 

Sansa glanced over, a little surprised to see Arya laughing too. “I didn’t think you liked this show.”

 

“I didn’t. Now I do.” Arya ran her tongue around her chocolate smeared mouth, eyes still on the screen.

 

“You totally did! I knew it! I knew you liked it!” Sansa’s grin only widened as Arya scowled. “You always came in when I was watching, but you  _ always _ said you hated it. You only said that ‘cause  _ I _ liked it.”

 

“Shut up!” But Arya looked like she was trying to hold in a smile.

 

When the episode came to a close, Arya put on another one without even asking. Sansa sat by comfortably, leaning against the foot of the bed. The ice cream was all gone, and though a part of her wanted more, she knew she wouldn’t bother getting up.

 

“Hey, Sansa?” 

 

“Mmmm?” She hoped that Arya wasn’t about to tell her why she had suddenly started being so nice- she’d been enjoying this.

 

Arya paused the episode, and Sansa felt her mouth turn down at the corners. “I wanted to ask- you’re not still with him, are you?”

 

“Who?” But she thought she knew just who Arya meant. Sansa sat up, her stomach suddenly feeling a little too full.

 

“Come on.  _ Him. _ ”

 

“No, I’m not, if you have to know. But that’s none of your business.” 

 

_ And it’s not any of your business either if he’s texting me. Or sending me a text, anyway. Or if I answer to see what he wants. _

 

“Good.” Arya said the word so emphatically that Sansa blinked. A horrible thought was circling her mind. But no- that couldn’t be right.

 

“Arya- why do you care so much?”

 

“I saw what he said to you.” She reached for the remote, but Sansa pulled it away from her.

 

“Tell me.”

 

Arya grimaced. “Sansa-”

 

“Tell me!”

 

“Fine,” Arya snapped. She took a long breath, turning to face Sansa square on. “Elmer Frey came up to me the other day, and said he’d heard some- things- about you.”

 

“What things?” Sansa’s hands curled into first, nails digging into her palms.

 

“Lies.” Arya pulled her knees to her chest. “I hit him. He won’t be saying that anymore.”

 

“Oh, Arya-” Sansa wasn’t sure quite what to say. What did you say to that? “Mum must be so pissed about that.”

 

“She can’t be pissed about what she doesn’t know about. Elmer won’t say, I told him I’d hit him again if he did. Harder.”

 

“How did  _ he _ know?” Arya went to the junior high. She didn’t even take the same bus as Sansa, hers came later.

 

“His brother told him, he said.”

 

“ _ Shit _ ” Of course Addam was the type to tell his brother all about stuff like this. He’d probably made up even more. And if one those students knew, Sansa would bet that more did. She slumped back, letting her head tip backwards as well. Arya had no stars on her ceiling, but she stared at it anyway.

 

“Did  _ he _ make up those things?”

 

Sansa shook her head, but it was no use lying now. “Yeah. He did.”

 

Arya huffed loudly. “Someone should hit  _ him. _ Robb would, if he was still at school with you.”

 

“Well, he isn’t.” Sansa turned finally to look at Arya. It surprised her a little how angry her sister looked. “And we shouldn’t hit people anyway, not just for words.” No matter how good the image made her feel.

 

“Someone should do something.”

 

“It’s fine.” The words came out as a snap, harsher than she expected. “It’s fine, I don’t need help. It just goes to show, anyway. Joffrey’s one thing, but I thought-” Sansa bit her lip, averting her eyes from Arya’s small, angry face. “I thought I had friends, is all.”

 

When Arya hugged her, Sansa hugged her back. Hard. She had to blink, and turn her face way when they broke apart, but if Arya saw something, she pretended that she hadn’t.

 

“You’ve still got Jeyne, haven't you?”

 

When Sansa shook her head, she closed her eyes.

 

“Isn’t there anybody decent at that place?”

 

“Some people are alright.” There were a few people who would still talk to her, apart from all the boys. Mostly the people who she hadn’t known well anyway, who didn’t care much for rumors and gossip. They at least would still say hello in the halls, and not move away if she sat at their table during Art class. And then there was-

 

“I’ve got a friend. Sort of, anyway.”

 

“Sort of?” Arya had recaptured the remote, balancing it on her knee, though she hadn’t turned the episode back on. “Either they’re your friend on they aren’t.”

 

“Well- I sort of just met- kind of, I mean- he’s my tutor.” She finished a bit lamely. Sandor was sort of her friend. They didn’t really talk in the one class they had together, but she always sat next to him now, which was at least enough to keep Addam away. And sometimes they talked some while they worked at math together. He cursed too much and sometimes it felt like he took offense at almost anything, but he was nice to her. Or at least, he didn’t go out of his way to be rude anymore.

 

“Oh.” Sansa looked over at her sister. Arya’s eyes were narrowed, her brow furrowed. “Is he like- are you gonna go out with him then?”

 

“Arya- no!” Sansa couldn’t help but laugh, taking a halfhearted swing at Arya with her pillow. The idea was certainly laughable. He might be alright with tutoring her and being her sort-of-friend, but he’d spent too much time hating her for  _ nothing _ to even consider his thinking of her like that. Not that she wanted him to- it would just make things weird. “Like I said. He’s my tutor.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

Did she actually look- disappointed?

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” Arya shrugged. “Just- if you were, I was gonna tell you to tell him to hit Joffrey for you.”

 

Sansa clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling helplessly. “Arya!”

 

“What? You should’ve! If you were, I mean.” She made a face. “Unless he’s a shrimp, or something.”

 

Sansa giggled even harder at that. “No. He’s not a shrimp. He’s taller than Dad.”

 

“Oh. Shame.” 

 

Sansa shook her head. It certainly  _ was _ useful having him to sit next to. Sansa thought most everybody had forgotten about the rumors by now, or stopped caring, except for the most important people. All the boys. And Margaery. And if Margie cared, all the girls she hung around with cared. And there were lots of them. But Addam would never,  _ ever _ forget. He alway hung around Sansa in Gym, so much that Mr. Meadows had started deliberately separating them, to Sansa’s relief. And he still tried to catch her between classes. But not in English anymore.

 

“Turn that back on, will you?” She sat back, eyes fixed on the flickering screen, but not really watching. Maybe it was wrong to feel a burst of satisfaction at the way Addam sat as far away from her as he could when she settled at the desk next to Sandor. Maybe it was wrong to feel a curl of pleasure at the thought of Joffrey even trying to fight someone the size of Sandor. It was probably wrong to even think it.

 

But no one had to know.


	15. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My Sandor chapters tend to run a bit long, but that only makes them more enjoyable to write. Hope you guys are liking this as much as I am!

“Sandor.”

 

He jumped, whirling around. He’d thought-

 

Dad was leaning against the wall, in the shadows next to the fridge. He was smiling a bit crookedly. Sandor felt the bag of noodles in his hand, almost as though it was glowing hot.

 

“I was just-”

 

He trailed off as Dad moved forward, into the dim light of the kitchen. He must have gone out today, to gamble or something. His jeans were clean, with no holes, and he was wearing a sweatshirt rather than his usual undershirt. Even looked as though he’d shaved sometime recently. As he came closer, Sandor backed up a bit, until the counter hit his back. He wasn’t backing away, he wasn’t. Only- he hadn’t expected for Dad to be up this late, much less waiting for him. He’d only wanted to make the ramen, and maybe grab a shower. Gregor had been out for the past few days, and he’d thought it was safe.

 

“You want one?”

 

Sandor stared at the wrinkled white and red bag held out to him. “Yeah. Sure.”

 

He knew better then to reach for it. Dad pulled out what looked like a burrito of some sort, wrapped in paper. It was soggy and cold against his fingers as he took it. He didn’t look down to see what type it might be. Dad was looking at him, still smiling that half smile. He turned towards the den with a careless gesture. Sandor followed slowly, hitching up his backpack as he did so, slipping his other arm through the strap rather than letting it hang from one shoulder.

 

Dad had sat in his chair and Sandor on the sagging couch, right on the edge. Dad pulled more damp-wrapped food from the bag, selecting one for himself before reaching into the case of beer he habitually kept by the chair. The snap of the tab opening was loud in the quiet room. The TV was on, as it always was, but the sound had been muted. The colors danced in the corner of his vision, washed out and too bright. Dad pulled another can of beer from the case, and held it out towards him. Sandor stared at it, the ice rising steadily in his throat. After a long moment, Dad shrugged, and put it down by his own feet.

 

Silence reigned for a bit, with Dad looking at him, and Sandor watching Dad look at him. The ramen crackled in his hand, and he jerked where he sat, realizing that he had been clenching his fists. Dad had noticed too, and his eyes flickered there for a moment. When he looked up, he jerked a chin at Sandor’s other hand.

 

“Eat.”

 

“M’not hungry. Changed my mind.” He put the little burrito onto the round table next to Dad’s chair, stretching to reach.

 

“Fine.” His eyes were narrow as he looked Sandor over, traveling from his feet back up to his face. “Getting tall, aren’t you? Almost as tall as me, I’d reckon. Almost a man. How old are you now?”

 

There was no fucking ‘almost’ about it, but Sandor didn’t say so. “Sixteen.”

 

Dad let out a puff of air, sitting back in his chair, raising the can of beer to his lips. “Getting cold. It’ll be winter soon.”

 

“Yeah.” He kept his eyes on Dad’s. He knew- but he wouldn’t. Couldn’t, even if he’d wanted to. He should just leave, before this got out of hand, like it had last time. He should leave.

 

“Water costs money, you know.” He was nodding at the bag in Sandor’s hand, and he hastily shoved it into his sweatshirt’s front pocket. “More money than you’d figure.”

 

_Shut up, you old cunt._

 

“Yeah,” he muttered, “yeah, I know.” Steeling himself, he pushed to his feet, tension seeping into his shoulders. “I’d better- there’s school in….”

 

Dad had gotten up too, head back, stretched to his full height. “That fucking fancy school you go to now? That _I_ signed, to let you into?”

 

“I won’t use the water, OK?” Sandor was backing up now, the carpet of the den turning to linoleum under his feet. Dad was following, beer in hand. “I won’t.”

 

“No, you fucking well won’t. But you have. And slept in my house, eaten my food-”

 

Sandor turned, breath caught in his throat, and made a grab for the door handle, but Dad had gotten there first. His hand had clamped over it before Sandor could so much as lay a finger on it, and suddenly he was in his face, close enough that their chests nearly touched. Sandor stumbled backwards, but the counter hit his back.

 

“I haven't got any, OK? There’s nothing.”

 

“Bullshit- where’d you get the car then? Where’d you get the car?” He was shouting now, his voice a roar this close, and he’d let go of the door to make a grab for Sandor’s collar. There was a confusion of arms as he tried to shove him away, and a stinging blow landed next to his ear, and another landed on his stomach, knocking the breath from him.

 

Then, coughing and trying to suck in more air, Sandor shoved hard, with both hands. As Dad swore, stumbling as he hit the wall, Sandor ran. The den passed in a blur, and then he was at the front door. He thought Dad threw something at him, but if he had, he’d missed. Out in the street, the night air was cold to his straining lungs, and he did not slow as he heard Dad screaming curses after him.

 

A few blocks flashed past before he found himself back at Ed’s, doubled over and panting under a streetlight. He ignored the few people who passed him. There was a bar close to here, and this time of night, it was just getting started. Wouldn’t really see too many people for at least an hour.

 

That old- he should’ve-

 

Slamming a fist into his palm, he gritted his teeth. He should have hit him, really hit him. Shown him what it felt like to-

 

Straightening, Sandor looked at the dark parking lot, taking in the shape of his ford focus beside Ed’s big jeep. There was nothing for it. It would have to be the car tonight. He hesitated, glancing around. It wouldn’t do to just walk right over there- even now, a figure across the street raised a hand, trying to hail him.

 

He didn’t wait to see if he actually knew the figure or not, just put his head down and walked up the street, towards the bar. The further he got from the house, the more that the icy feeling was heating, boiling inside of him.

 

He did damn near everything, and it still wasn’t enough. He didn’t even live in the fucking house anymore, hadn’t since last spring, the last time Dad had taken any interest in talking to him. Not that it was him that Dad was interested in. He wished- he wanted- but there wasn’t _enough_ , not with insurance for the fucking car coming up, and even without that, he couldn’t. Maybe this summer. He could work more for Ed, or maybe find another job. He’d heard before that Nat from the end of Brown street, who’s sister Sandor had gone to school with, had apartments and didn’t care who he rented to. He liked Sandor alright, he’d done some work for him a few years back. For cheap as fuck too. Nat couldn’t pay much, but Sandor would have almost done it for free. His sister Palla had been a tiny thing, and hadn’t deserved what she’d got.

 

“Hey- Clegane!”

 

Sandor rolled his eyes, turning even though he already knew who was calling him. The figure from before had caught up with him, and it was easier to see the silhouette now that he was closer. He always wore that stupid hat. “Fuck off Jonos, I don’t want anything.”

 

“Alright, alright.” He’d raised his hands into the air, in mock surrender. “Just thought I’d ask.”

 

Sandor turned away again, and picked up the pace as he moved through the line of cars in front of the little bar, its colorful lights humming slightly. He almost crashed right into a couple going inside- the woman pressed backwards into her date, red painted mouth turned down and eyes fixed on his burned cheek. The man put his arm around her and scowled over at him, but said nothing. Sandor just kept walking.

 

He jumped the low fence behind the bar, cutting through the gas station that was beyond it, and trying to keep to the shadows as he moved down the street, in the direction he’d just come from. Jonos had come right up to him, even though Sandor had only ever bought a few things off him in the past- he’d found out pretty quick that he’d preferred drink to pot. It was too expensive, and made him feel too fuzzy. Jonos had also just seen him pelting down the street with a backpack on. Maybe thought he had something valuable in the bag, something that he might want to get rid of quickly. If he thought so, maybe others had too. He was good at being unpredictable in where he was going. He’d learned to be a few years back, after the first few times he’d been jumped on his way to school. One person was alright, but when they brought friends, the only thing to do was run, which almost never worked.

 

It didn’t _look_ like anyone was following him, but you couldn’t be too careful. Nothing could happen to the car. It just couldn’t.

 

It took some time, but he got back to Ed’s building, trying to cut through the most reputable parts of the neighborhood as he did so. Not that it made much difference- the people from his street and all the other ones like it came up here at night, where all the best bars were, where the casino was. It was nicer up here in the daytime, but at night, he might as well be on Fassbend Lane, for all the difference it made.

 

Climbing the fence separating him from the parking lot where his car sat was clumsy work with his bag on, and he fell the last few feet to the ground. Pulling himself up with a curse, he sat behind Ed’s bronco for a moment, rubbing his shin while he waited for the street to have a moment of emptiness.

 

When his moment came, Sandor rushed into the car, closing the door softly behind him, and locking them. He let out a long, slow breath as he reclined the seat as far as it would go.

 

Draping an arm over his eyes, Sandor let out a low groan. All he’d wanted was to eat. That was the one thing he couldn’t do himself. He’d gone to the bank yesterday, before school, and he’d seen that he had enough for the insurance by the skin of his teeth. Ed paid by the week, but that was still days away, and most of that would have to be for gas. It wasn’t that he didn’t have food left, it was just that what was left was uneaten for a reason. There was a whole case of ramen, and some oatmeal and a packet of rice and beans. It just all needed-

 

But he didn’t have it. He wanted to shout, yell, hit something.

 

The packet crinkled as he opened it, and little bits of noodle his his lap. The ramen tasted awful dry, but his stomach was fucking aching. He needed _something,_ even if that something would give him the shits in the morning.

 

It was cold in the car, and he flipped up the hood of his sweatshirt, pressing back into the seat, trying to find some small measure of comfort. The hoodie was starting to smell.

 

\-------

 

When he burst into wakefulness, Sandor was at first uncertain of what had roused him. Daylight was streaming through the windshield, and into his eyes once he’d sat up.

 

Then a rap came on the window, and he twisted in his seat, squinting through the smeared glass with his heart pounding in his chest. There was someone out there- too bulky to be Ed. He hesitated, one hand on the lock, but then a badge was pressed against the window, and there was no mistaking that.

 

Unlocking the door with fumbling fingers, Sandor unfolded himself from the seat, resisting the urge to stretch. It had been a cold, uncomfortable night, and what sleep he had managed had been fitful. The spot on his head where Dad had hit him was aching dully.

 

The man in front of him was shorter by a few inches, but it did not seem to bother him. His cap was slightly tipped to the side, and his smile a little sardonic as he looked Sandor up and down. “License and registration, kid.”

 

He stood there stupidly for a moment, blinking in the morning light, until an impatient sigh had him scrambling for his pockets, and then for his backpack when his wallet wasn’t in there. He leaned back into his car for the papers, rifling frantically until he found them. It was with mingled relief and trepidation that he watched the police officer take a cursory glance at both before looking up at Sandor again. It was all there, he knew that. But just a year ago, he would have bolted the second he’d seen a cop. They had better things to do then to run after a kid they’d caught sleeping in a parking lot, and he had better things to do than talk to cops. But a year ago there hadn’t been the car to worry about, or a bank account or a proper job, not any of that.

 

The man tilted his head back eyeing Sandor, and he felt the familiar wave of humiliation and defiance when he realized that the man was looking at his scars. But he held himself still.

 

“This is trespassing. Did you know that?”

 

“It isn’t.” When the man just raised an eyebrow, Sandor added, “Ed lets me park here. I work for him, he said it was fine.”

 

“He say you could sleep here too?”

 

Sandor said nothing. Ed probably wouldn’t _mind,_ but if he said something, if Sandor were caught out to be lying- what? Could they do anything? Maybe.

 

Suddenly, he realized something. He thought he knew who this particular cop was. Lots of people in his neighborhood, at his school, had got to know the policemen who patrolled the area quite well- he himself very clearly remembered the large, well-built cop with black hair who had led the men to arrest Gregor a few years back. Officer Kettleblack. He’d spared only a glance for Sandor, and a quick, careless call for him to stay out of trouble, this was what happened to guys that didn’t. This man, while relatively nondescript, had a thin, rakish face, and wore a heavy copper ring on one hand, with a dull black stone set in it.

 

“Officer- Blackwater?” He felt ridiculous asking, but if he was wrong-

 

“What’s it to you?” That eyebrow was climbing higher, but no other part of him looked surprised.

 

Sandor hesitated. He carried no cash in his wallet, and the few loose bills he kept in the car were supposed to be for emergency gas money. And how much was he supposed to give anyway? It wasn’t like anyone ever spelled it out for you, taught you how. You were just supposed to know. Should he even? This wasn’t something he could _really_ be in trouble for, was it?

 

“I can hear you thinking, you know.”

 

Sandor blinked. Opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

 

The shorter man shook his head, that smile playing over his lips again as he glanced down at the license still in his hand. “Clegane’s boy, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Don’t worry about it kid. Just don’t make a habit of it.”

 

He gave the license and loose papers back and turned away, making for the patrol car that he’d pulled up beside Sandor’s.

 

Sandor closed his eyes. This was fine. It was fine. That was why he’d got all this stuff, why he was paying through the nose for the fucking insurance. He swung open the car door, sitting on the edge of the seat, unwilling just yet to duck back inside the cramped space.

 

“Hey, kid? Bit of free advice.” Office Blackwater had opened his car door as well, and was looking over at Sandor over the top of it. “When a policeman comes up to you in your car, stay in there. Open the window, keep your hands on the wheel. I’d tell you not to say anything stupid, but it looks like you can manage that on your own.”

 

“Thanks?”

 

Were all policemen like that, or only ones like him? Sandor had tried his best to avoid cops when he could, and unlike Dad and Gregor, had never had any looking for him personally.

 

The cop just shook his head, pushing his cap further back on his head. “Off to school now.” And he was gone, pulling out into the early morning traffic, lights flashing for a brief moment as he merged.

 

Sandor sat still for a long moment, looking after the car. Then, he cursed, fumbling in his pocket for his phone, dropping his registration papers into the dirt. There was still time- barely, but if he left now, he’d just make it. Snatching his papers off the dirty car lot, Sandor stuffed himself back into the car, shoving everything back where it belonged.

 

Despite his lateness, Sandor couldn’t help but stop at McDonald's on the way, and spent far too long staring at the menu in the drive through, trying to work out what the biggest thing on the dollar menu was. He tried to keep his face averted as he pulled up the the window, but the bored looking girl who took one of his precious bills and a small handful of coins didn’t so much as look at him. He watched the sway of her little gold earrings, contrasting startlingly with her cheap polyester uniform. When she leaned over to pass him his change, he could see that her tits were startlingly huge. He took a moment as she thanked him for the business, all without looking at him, to wonder if they were fake. In his neighborhood, girls stuffed their bras. In school, the guys would sometimes try to pull out the stuffing as they ran past, whooping and hollering. In this area, with the big houses with neat, green lawns, maybe the girls got implants.

 

He pulled over, glancing nervously at the clock. But he’d rather be a bit late than eat this cold. It might be the best meal he’d have in ages outside of school. It disappeared quickly, and as he chewed, Sandor stared around at the other cars and their occupants. There were a few older cars, like his, but all looked to be in better shape. These were universally driven by teenagers, all wolfing down their food like Sandor himself. Some of them probably went to his school. There were men in suits, eating more sedately and grimacing as ketchup squirted onto their white shirts, and women in vans or sports cars, who looked like they had stopped here for a quick snack after dropping the kids off at school. Before they themselves went to get a massage, or go shopping, or whatever else rich women did with their time.

 

Tossing the wrapper into the passenger seat, and grimacing at the amount of garbage already there, Sandor pulled out to make the short drive to Kingswood.

 

He could find somewhere else to sleep tonight maybe, but he’d have to go back home after. He didn’t like the idea of sleeping in the car where the police might find him again, or of sleeping outside of it in the park or something. It was getting colder. If nothing else, Dad had been right about that.

 

Sandor felt his lips curl back at the thought, felt the tugging it brought to the scars on his cheek. Maybe he should go back tonight, show him what was what. There was no work tomorrow, it was his day off, and he’d wanted to spend it in comfort. He could go back and confront him. Show Dad that he couldn’t be shoved around anymore, he’d grown too big for that. He’d show him, he could hit too now.

 

But then what? Go back to sleeping in the house with Gregor next door? Beat up his Dad, and then go slink back outside to sleep in the shed? Besides, Gregor would probably be home soon, and if he was, Sandor would just get the shit kicked out of him.

 

He was suddenly very tired.

 

He wasn’t quite late yet, but almost. The halls were full of students at their lockers, getting their things. Sandor averted his eyes. He knew he smelled in his old, dirty, hoodie, knew his hair was greasy and hanging in his face. He should’ve come in early to shower.

 

Wrenching open his locker, he pulled out what he’d need for first period. He hadn’t even read this chapter yet, or even picked his essay topic. He’d given up his lunches to tutoring Sansa, and fuck trying to do everything at home in the damn shed, with a flashlight between his teeth.

 

He could do some of it now, before class started. At least figure what he would write the stupid essay about. He became aware that he was staring dully at the open locker, his book, notebook, and folder held loosely in one hand. Shaking himself, he slammed it shut, tucking his things under one arm.

 

_Wake up._

 

Ducking into the nearest bathroom, he relieved his straining bladder, and then futilely splashed water onto his face at the sink. He wasn’t all that sure if he was trying to wash his face or startle himself further into wakefulness, but it didn't work for either.

 

The halls were almost empty when he emerged, most of the students having gone to their homerooms, or at least hanging around outside of it so they could enter quickly one the bell rang. Sandor headed towards his own, fiddling with his phone. It would be easier if he had time to look at the cliff notes. He didn’t think Mrs. Martin would call on him- she almost never did. But still. Maybe he didn’t have to. It wasn’t like people didn’t sort of know what happened in Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde anyway. He thought he’d seen a movie about it before, a cartoon one when he was a kid. And he was fucking tired.

 

There was a knot of students right by the door to Martin’s classroom, almost blocking the way in. A couple of boys and a girl. He frowned, quickening his pace. Only one girl in school had hair like that.

 

She was between two boys, one that she was taller then, and another with a few inches on her. Sansa was clutching her bag to her chest, holding herself tight and small. One had a hand on her shoulder, and she was backing away, further into the hallway by the wall, trying to move away from it, but he was moving with her.

 

It felt good, better than good, to walk right into them, slamming his shoulder into the taller boy, sending him stumbling into the line of lockers beside him with a crash. The boy cursed, trying to keep his feet, and his smaller friend turned around with an angry look on his face. He made as if to start for Sandor, but thought better of it.

 

He should have. The impact of his shoulder and arm against the kid had been nothing, not enough. He wanted them to, both of them. He could-

 

Sansa was gawking at him with her mouth open, bag still clutched to her chest. He grabbed her by the elbow and towed her into the classroom, glaring at all the startled faces looking over at their abrupt entrance, daring them to say something.

 

No one did.

 

He let go of her as he reached his desk, and slid into it just as the bell rang. His knees hit the underside with a loud crack, and he closed his eyes, pulling in a long, slow breath. When he opened them again, the two boys had come in, glowering at Sandor. He smirked right back at them. The taller one’s hair had been disturbed out of the crisply parted waves it had been in before, and was hanging limply over his face. The two boys at first looked as though they were going to approach him, but Martin had gestured them impatiently to their seats.

 

A small hand caught at his elbow, and he turned to see that Sansa had taken the seat right behind him. She had bright spots of color on her cheeks, making the rest of her skin look even paler in contrast. “You didn't have to. I could’ve-”

 

“Does anything you do _work_? Do you ever just tell those guys to fuck off?” His voice was probably a little too loud, but the early morning rumble of chatter was probably enough to block it out. The pair of mousy girls sitting closest to them probably heard, but no one else would have.

 

“Of course I have!”

 

He rolled his eyes, turning to face the front again. “In those words?”

 

Her silence told him all he needed to know. It was too late for his phone, but he pulled the list of topics out of the folder. After a minute of staring, he just circled one at random. It was no good. All he could think about was Dad, and if he could maybe get away with going back to the shed tonight. And food. All that damn burger had done was make him hungrier, and it was hours and hours ‘till lunch. He had work later. Maybe Ed wouldn’t mind if he used the coffee pot for some hot water, to make the oatmeal at least. Sandor had eaten oatmeal made cold before, and it wasn’t an experience that he cared to repeat.

 

When he felt her hand on his elbow again, he didn’t even look. “What now?” Did she need him to spell it out for her, what she had to say to the idiots who sniffed around her?

 

The hand didn’t withdraw. “I just wanted to say- thanks.”

 

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. After a moment, she withdrew her hand as the teacher began marking down names, but he felt the imprint of it on his arm. He hadn’t even been thinking much about her when he’d headed for the boys. He’d just wanted to hit something, and they’d looked like they deserved it.

 

But he’d still done it. Without her asking, and now she was grateful

 

Grateful. To _him._


	16. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So- I felt so guilty about that last chapter that half of this one is literally just Sandor eating muffins. That's it. Almost no more plot than that. I need to learn to feel less guilt over fictional characters.

“You’re not fucking  _ concentrating _ . Stop thinking about fairies or makeup or your ex, or whatever and think about  _ math _ .”

 

“I am!” Sansa scowled at Sandor. He’d been so nice the past few days, pushing Nick away from her like that. He’d even walked her to Art afterwards when she’d asked, and had since then. So why did he need to be so irritable today? Even though he was right, she  _ had  _ been thinking about Joffrey.

 

“Well, it doesn’t look like it, does it?” His pencil jabbed towards the middle of her paper, to where her half finished problem sat, full of scribblings and crossed out numbers.

 

“I’m trying!” Tears actually rose in her eyes a bit, but she blinked them away. She wasn’t doing all that much worse than she had yesterday, he was just being all prickly again. He proved it when he slumped down in his seat, resting his forehead against his arms. He wasn’t really trying either, and then he wanted to go and say it was all her fault.

 

Sitting back in her chair, she glared at the back of his head. He looked awful, greasy and wrinkled, with bloodshot eyes. He was starting to smell too, lately. He never had before, he might have been ragged and and a bit unkempt, but he’d never seemed dirty.

 

“Look-” He levered himself up on one elbow, looking bleary eyed at her. “Can we just- not, today?”

 

Sansa blinked at him for a moment. “But- I need t-”

 

“Yeah, you need a B on your stupid math test. You’ll get one, I promise. Just, lets just sit today. We can even  _ talk _ if you like.”

 

Sansa snorted. He said it as though it were a bad word, but even if he didn’t want to admit it, she knew that he liked being around her. At least a little. He liked it when she talked about her old friends, of Joffrey, or her teachers, because when she did he got to make fun of them, which made Sansa laugh. It was the closest she’d come to hanging out with a friend in weeks now.

 

“Fine.” She pushed away her notebook with a faint feeling of relief. Math was feeling harder and harder for her today. She just couldn’t concentrate on anything. “Do you think that-”

 

“Christ.” He’d levered himself up again, glaring over at her. “Do you ever shut up?”

 

She glared right back at him. “Who shit in your cereal?”

 

He blinked, but then she thought she saw the corner of his mouth turn up a little. “What the fuck does that mean?”

 

Sansa shrugged. “I dunno. It’s just something my sister says. I mean, what’s up?” Leaning forward, Sansa draped herself over the textbook in front of her, so that they were on the same level.

 

“Nothing’s up.”

 

“Something is. All week, you keep getting snappier every day, and I never  _ do _ anything to make you.”

 

“Maybe you do and you just don’t know it.” He’d closed his eyes again, shifting his face back down onto his arms. Between the strands of his hair, Sansa could see the flat panes of his scars, turning rough and rippled as it melded with the normal flesh. What had happened to him? It had to be a long time ago. Did old scars still hurt? 

 

He opened his eyes and scowled at her, so Sansa shifted away, looking at the wall. When several minutes passed, and Sandor showed no sign of talking to her, or doing anything but telling her to be quiet if she spoke herself, Sansa sat up again, reaching for her phone. Joff had texted again. He never said what he wanted, just a ‘hey’, or a ‘you there?’. As though she would answer, after all he had done.

 

Sansa pushed aside her phone with a grimace. The only people who texted her anymore were Arya and her brothers, and the occasional friend from Winterfell to ask how she was doing. She wanted something to do- something to eat maybe, to take her mind off of how boring her life had become. No one talked to her really in school, or at least not anyone she wanted to talk to. Even Sandor didn’t seem to care what she said about anything. Boys still bothered her, but there was an almost absent minded quality to it now. They seemed to have worked out that she wasn’t really going to go running of with one of them if they asked her to, and it seemed to be more habit than anything for most of them to wink at her in class, or throw some comment her way in the hallway.

 

Sansa rummaged through her bag- it was a new one that she’d gotten last week with Mum, a bright turquoise backpack that could hold lots more than her leather shoulder bag could. She pulled the heavy tupperware out, grimacing at it. She’d been so excited to learn to make these last night. Muffins seemed like the sort of thing that real bakers made, and the thought of making some herself had lifted her spirits. But then Mum had to go and pack half of them up, telling Sansa to take them to school for her  _ friends. _

 

What friends, anymore?

 

Frowning, she pulled open the lid and pulled a muffin out, peeling the thin paper cup from around the base.

 

Sandor sat up so quickly that it startled her, eyes flickering from the muffin in her hand to the open container in front of her. “What are  _ those?” _

 

Sansa took a delicate bite, enjoying the look on his face. “Muffins.”

 

She sat for a moment longer, watching him eyeing the one in her hand, before she pushed the tupperware toward him. “Go on, I need to get rid of these. Have as many as you like.”

 

The ferocity with which he snatched up the muffins both startled and gratified her. Leaning her head on her hand, she took another bite, watching as he tore into is own. After he had finished his first and picked up a second, Sandor seemed to realize the she was watching him. 

 

“What kind are these?”

 

Swallowing thickly, Sansa covered her mouth with one hand as she replied. “Monster muffins.” Sandor had already taken another bite, but he looked up at her, a crease forming between his brows. “Oh, that’s just what I call them. I wanted to make apple cinnamon or banana nut, and couldn’t decide. So I did both. Rickon said they looked weird, so I called them monster muffins. My brother,” she explained.

 

Sandor just shrugged, speaking around his mouthful. “R’good.”

 

She couldn’t help but smile at that, though the speed at which he was wolfing them down made her wince.  _ Boys. _

 

When he finally sat back with a sigh, a little less than half of the muffins remained. He was looking a bit regretfully at those, even as he put the lid back on for her.

 

“You can have those, if you want.”

 

He looked over at her. “Yeah?”

 

“Sure. Just bring the container back when you finish them, it’s my Mum’s.”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Did-” She bit her lip, a bit embarrassed to ask. “Did you like those?”

 

“Yeah.” He was looking at her like she was an idiot. She shifted under his gaze. Maybe it was a stupid question. He’d just eaten more than her entire family had combined. But still- sometimes it was hard to tell if they really had liked it or if they were just humoring her. The first meal she’d ever cooked by herself had been two years back, for her parents on father’s day. Dad had smiled and nodded and eaten two whole plates of her spaghetti and garlic bread. She’d been thrilled until she’d had some herself. The garlic in the sauce was almost uncooked, and the noodles had crunched between her teeth.

 

“I mean- really? You’re not just saying that?”

 

He rolled his eyes. “What do  _ you _ think?”

 

She chose not to answer that. The following silence was much more comfortable than the previous, Sandor sitting back in his seat and pulling out a sheet of homework. She grimaced at that, but did not suggest that they resume their studying. It was not as though she  _ wanted _ to do more Math. But still.

 

“It’s October.”

 

He glanced over at her. “I know that.”

 

“Almost Halloween.”

 

“Not it isn’t. There’s weeks before that.”

 

Sansa felt her mouth turn down at the corners. He never seemed to get that she was trying to  _ talk _ to him.

 

“Well, it’s close enough to count.” She blew out a long breath, trying to knock a tickly lock of hair out of her eyes. “Margaery’s having a Halloween party. A big one. She was telling me all about it before- before.”

 

“So?” He had glanced up from his own work to look at her. He was scowling still, but not so hard as before. Maybe he’d just been hungry.

 

“So I miss it. Not them,” She added hastily, as Sandor’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t miss them, not really, but I miss doing stuff. Celebrating, you know? I haven't done anything for Halloween in ages.”

 

This was supposed to have been her first big high school party. At her old school, Sansa had been seen as a bit of a goody two shoes, just like Jeyne. But here, with Margie hanging out with her, with Joffrey as her boyfriend- here it had been different. Sometimes people sort of knew who she was, even before she met them. As Margaery’s friend, or more lately as Joff’s girlfriend. Her stomach twisted a little, as she thought of them. Margaery always sort of floated past Sansa now, like she wasn’t even there. When Joff saw her, he always did something. If he was with Margaery, he put his arm around her or pulled her into a kiss- Margie always pulled away from these. She had told Sansa once that making out in the hallways was trashy. If he was with his friends, he would tell them something, and they would all laugh.

 

Crossing her arms over her chest Sansa tried not to think about that. “Anyway. I haven't been trick or treating in years, of course. It just would’ve been nice.”

 

Sandor pushed aside his homework, and reached for the muffins again. “Yeah. what did you go as? A princess, or something?” 

 

He snorted at that thought, though Sansa could see nothing funny about it. She’d gone as Princess Ariel before, and Sleeping Beauty too. “So what if I have? What’s wrong with that? What did  _ you _ go as?”

 

He shifted a little in his seat, eating the muffin very slowly. “I don’t do Halloween.”

 

“I didn’t mean now, I meant when you were a kid.”

 

He shrugged. “I never did Halloween then either.”

 

The bell rang, and Sandor gathered his things together quickly, stuffing the tupperware into his bag so roughly that Sansa winced- the muffins inside must be shaking around like anything. 

 

“I’ll see-” But he had already left. Sansa grabbed her bag and opened the door, just in time to see him shouldering his way out of the library, into the hallway full of students. She followed more slowly. She just didn’t  _ get _ him. Sometimes it seemed like they got along fine, other times it was like he was almost running away from her.

  
  


\--------

  
  


“Sansa.”

 

She froze, her wet hands stilling on the backs of her thighs, where she had been wiping them dry. Joffrey was leaning against the wall, right next to the door to the bathroom. Sansa stared wide-eyed at him for a moment. It felt like she’d swallowed her tongue. Heart pounding hard, she turned, and walked quickly back towards her classroom.

 

“Wait-” 

 

Suddenly he was beside her, walking almost as close as he’d used to. She stopped, wheeling around to face him.

 

“What do  _ you  _ want?”

 

He put both hands up, as though warding her off. But he was smiling, a crooked little smirk that had used to thrill her. She was suddenly very aware that her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, that she wore no makeup, that she was wearing an old pair of jeans and her baggiest hoodie.

 

“Just wanted to talk a bit. We haven't talked that night.”

 

“There's a reason.” She glared at him, watching his face. Surely he had to realize what he’d done, what he’d done to  _ her _ . He was supposed to have loved her.

 

“I just wanted to say-”

 

“I have class.” She left, walking quickly, and this time he did not follow her. After she had replaced the hall pass and taken her seat again, Sansa sat still and quiet, not listening to a word of the documentary that they were watching.

 

Her phone buzzed her her pocket. Sansa curled her fingers in tight, until her nails pressed painfully into her palms, and tried not to think about it.


	17. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying not to post two sansa or sandor povs in a row, but when I tried to transition back to his pov, everything felt stilted and unfinished. So here we are. Am currently working on the following chapter, will try to post that by tomorrow night.

“You’re sure you don’t want to come, Sansa?” Dad was shrugging into his jacket, made awkward by the water bottles stuck under one arm. “Bran’s old enough to stay at home alone, you don’t have to stay if you want.”

 

“I know Dad.” Sansa flipped sideways on the couch, letting her chin come down to rest on the back of the couch cushions. ”I’m not feeling great, I told you. I just wanna stay home.”

 

“Suit yourself.” He looked a little disappointed, and Sansa felt a twinge of guilt in her stomach. It was rare that Dad had a night off these days, and now both she and Bran would just be sitting at home without him. “But you know we’ll be getting dinner after Rickon’s game. You and Bran can fend for yourselves. Maybe you’ll cook something, eh? You’ve been getting right good at all that.”

 

“Better than I was, anyway. Bye, love you!” She closed her eyes when he walked over and planted a dry kiss on her forehead. It felt nice and cool against the pounding heat in her head. Sleep had been hard to come by lately. His hand rested on her forehead for a moment after he straightened, but he didn’t say anything. His footsteps retreated to the door where Arya was calling for him to  _ hurry up, _ or they’d  be late. The car engine started, and Sansa opened her eyes as she heard it pull out of the drive. Suddenly, she found herself wishing that she’d gone with them, despite the pounding in her head. It was too quiet in here now.

 

She turned up the volume of the TV, but rather than watching it, pulled out her phone. She tried playing a few games, but nothing really stuck, really offered the distraction that she was looking for. When another message pulled up with a small  _ ding _ , Sansa scowled. There was only one person it could really be.

 

When she pulled up the text, her grip tightened on the phone.

 

_ miss you been thinking about you _

 

Miss her. As though he could. As though he would. How did you do those things to a person, and then turn around and act like nothing had ever happened? Like he’d never called her all those names, or just  _ left _ her on the side of the road like- like she didn’t mean anything. Like she was trash.

 

Missing her. It was just bullshit.

 

Sansa abruptly scrolled back, looking at the list of names that announced her most recent messages. If you took family out of the mix, then there were mostly just two of them from anytime recent. Two boys. The Sansa of a year ago would have been elated by that fact, if she hadn’t known the details. But then the Sansa of a year ago had never had a boyfriend, never been kissed, never even been on a date. Unless you counted going to the dance with Raymar Wylde a few years back, but she hoped she didn’t have to.

 

Only maybe she should count that night, even though Ray had tried to get her to smoke one of his brother’s cigarettes, and then had puked all over her shoes when he’d tried one himself. At least, if that counted,  _ he _ wouldn’t be her first date.

 

Scowling, Sansa scrolled down the list of names. There was Shella from Winterdown who still talked to her sometimes. And then Jeyne, who’d gone quiet after that day, when Sansa had said- when she’d-

 

Tipping her head back on the cushions, Sansa let out a groan. This was stupid. Her head already hurt, and here she was now making it worse. Struggling to her feet, she shoved her phone onto her back pocket and thumped up the stairs. Bran’s door was closed, but she pushed it open anyway, letting it bang against the opposite wall. Bran sat up on the bed with a jerk. His phone was in his hands, and he was glaring at her.

 

“Don’t you knock? I could’ve been naked!”

 

“I’m your sister, I don’t have to knock.” She sat down on the bed next to him, and reached for the phone. “Who ya texting?”

 

“No one.” But his cheeks were reddening. 

 

Sansa grinned. She was pushing him and it felt good. “It wouldn’t be  _ Meera _ , would it?”

 

“I said no one, fuck off!”

 

“Bran!” She reached for the phone again, but he pushed her away with one hand, holding the phone away with the other. She could have grabbed it if she really wanted, but that didn’t matter. “What if I told Mum you said that?”

 

“So?” His ears were reddening still further. “Arya says it all the time!”

 

“Arya is older than you. And she doesn’t say it where Mum can hear, so that doesn’t count. Meera’s older than you too, you know. Isn’t she fourteen?”

 

“So? What, I can’t be friends with her?”

 

“You can do whatever-”

 

“Sansa, go away! Why are you being such a jerk?” His chest was heaving, and the entirety of his face was pink now, though with embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t tell.

 

“I-” She paused, arm still held out in a mock grab for the phone. “I thought- I’m sorry.” Abruptly, she stood and left, pulling the door shut behind her. 

 

In the safety of her own room, Sansa sat down on the bed. She pulled the phone out of her pocket, and stared at the blank screen. Her head was pounding worse than ever, and there was a low, heavy feeling in her gut.

 

She hadn’t meant to push him like that. She hadn’t thought she had been. She scowled, trying to ignore the niggling voice in the back of her mind, the one telling her that she  _ had _ known, that Arya had told her all about how Bran had a huge crush on his best friend’s sister. 

 

But what did it matter?  _ Meera _ was a nice girl.  _ She _ wouldn’t mock a boy who liked her, even if he was three years younger with legs that didn’t quite work. Arya said that Meera always smiled when she said anything about it, and had told her that it was cute. Bran could just go on and enjoy his stupid little crush no matter what she did, and Meera would just go on smiling and thinking it was cute, and she wouldn’t go and do anything to hurt him.

 

The heavy feeling was only getting deeper.

  
  


\-------

  
  


“Bran?” She knocked this time, rapping on the door with her elbow. She could hear a quick flurry of movement beyond the door, but he didn’t answer her. Cracking the door open, she could see his legs lying across the bed, just as they had been when she’d last left. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, she half expected Bran to yell at her to shut it again. But he seemed to be set on ignoring her. She approached slowly, the pottery handles slipping a little in her grip. Bran’s bedside table was mercifully clear, and Sansa set the mugs down there, and then pulled the stacked plates out of her other hand, poking one of the cookies in the middle to check. They were still warm.

 

“Bran?”

 

He didn’t say anything. There were big headphones over his ears, the green and black ones he’d gotten for Christmas last year. They were plugged into his phone, but she couldn’t hear any music emanating from them, despite the quiet of the room.

 

“I got you cookies. The chocolate chip ones me and mom made. I toasted them so they’re nice and warm. And I made hot cocoa. With milk, in the pan.” The way he liked it. But Bran still didn’t look at her. The lump that she had been trying to swallow was back in her throat as she spoke once more. “Bran- I’m really sorry.” 

 

Still nothing.

 

“I wasn’t being- Meera’s really nice. She really likes you, Arya said so. You’re a really good friend to her. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.”

 

He moved, but only to turn his head further away from her. Shrugging a little, Sansa picked up her own mug and plate, in an abrupt, jerky motion. Pausing before turning to the door, Sansa stared down at the steaming mug in her hand. She was sure- she’d made sure, her’s was in the green mug. But just in case-

 

She passed the mug under her nose, nodding in satisfaction. As she slipped out, spilling a little of the hot liquid on her wrist as she closed the door behind her. Back in her own room, she briefly considered the desk before putting her own portions onto the bedside table as well. They weren’t allowed to eat in their rooms, not unless they were sick, so she’d better remember to move all these dishes before Mum got home. Or maybe just hide them.

 

The hot chocolate tasted funny with the brandy in there, but not bad. Dad used to put it in coffee, she remembered. It was a long time since she’d had any. She always waited until she saw Dad having some, just to be sure. The corners of her mouth pulled down, and she took a longer sip, even though the hot chocolate was still too warm, and almost burned her mouth.

 

Jeyne had been there last time. They’d had it on it’s own at first, and tried to pretend they’d liked it, but they’d wound up having it in orange juice eventually, when they’d gotten tipsy enough to admit they didn’t like the taste on its own.

 

Jeyne. Stupid Jeyne with her stupid friends and her stupid lies.  _ Sansa _ wouldn’t have done that to her, not ever.

 

She took another sip, smaller this time, blowing on the surface of the liquid after the sip went down. It must be easy to be Bran. Or to be eleven, anyway. She didn’t much fancy having to use crutches. When she’d been eleven, everything was so easy. She’d had a crush on Tristifer Mudd herself, like all the girls had. He was tall, with black hair like ink, and he could run faster than any of the other boys besides. She snorted. Only from what she remembered, the other boys had got taller than him in the next few years, and he’d had a ripe crop of pimple to contend with on top of his unfortunate surname. 

 

At least Bran got texts from someone  _ nice _ , even if she just wanted to be his friend, and thought that his crush was a cute little boy one. Sansa might as well have asked out Tristifer Mudd and his pimples, he probably would have been lots nicer that Joff.

 

He  _ missed  _ her. He freaking missed her.

 

Sansa took a long sip of the cocoa. It was getting cooler now, easier to drink. That was good. She should call him. Call him and tell him where he could shove- something. She should. Call him right now, and tell him to fuck right off.

 

She pulled out her phone, but when she had a contact up on the screen, found that it was Margaery’s name and face the she saw. She should do it. Call and tell her just what her  _ boyfriend _ was doing. Had he been texting  Margaery before? When he was holding Sansa’s hand, and driving  _ her  _ to school?

 

She took a long, long gulp of the drink. It wasn’t working fast enough, and she should do it.


	18. Sandor

When his phone rang, he jerked from half wakefulness, plunging through the semi darkness for his abandoned jeans, hanging half-in, half out of his blankets. If it was Ed- it had to be, he’d changed his mind, he wanted to leave the store and he was calling to have Sandor come in-

 

“Hello?” His tongue felt thick and clumsy, and he fumbled his way onto the pile of damp clothes, groping for the lantern.

 

For a moment, there was nothing but quiet on the other end. Just as he was about to pull back and make sure he hadn’t really hung up by mistake, he heard the voice. 

 

“Sandor?”

 

“What? Who- Sansa?” His groping hand found the light at last, and he blinked as it flared into existence.

 

“Yes?” She said it like a question, almost like she wasn’t sure herself.

 

“I- what?” he snapped, picking himself up off the ground. He’d been  _ sleeping, _ finally. The past week had been fucking hell, sleeping  _ wherever  _ for ages, until both Dad and Gregor had finally just fucked off to wherever, and he’d gotten to wash his shit and fucking sleep on his day off, and now he was awake and shivering in his boxers because  _ she _ wanted to talk about math. “Did you fail your test or something?”

 

But that couldn’t be it. He’d seen her today, and she hadn’t said.

 

“Were-” A long pause stretched on as he sat down on the chair again, and pulled the blankets around himself one handed. They were all still a little wet from the machine, and smelled like that shit detergent he’d got, but they were clean now. “Were you sleeping?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“But it’s not night.” She giggled, high and fully, as though it were a funny joke.

 

He blinked. “So?” What was going on here? She sounded- different. Not so shy. Kind of like when they’d been in the closet, only she wasn’t angry this time. And that wasn’t quite right anyway. “Are you drunk?”

 

“No!” But she’d said it a little too quickly, and it sounded as though she were suppressing more laughter.

 

“You are.” Who would have thought it? But maybe he should have guessed- He bet rich kids got booze easy. They didn’t need guys like Jonos to buy it from, they probably all had fake IDs. The good kind, that looked almost real.

 

“Well. I’m not drunk. But you didn’t ask if I was drinking.”

 

“That’s different? But what do you want, anyway?”

 

“Just to talk. You said it was your day off, right? You’re not working, right?” There was some rustling on the other end of the phone, and he had a brief vision of her laying back in bed like he was, only she had some big pink canopy bed. Or maybe the kind with a big quilt and lots of pillows, like they had on TV shows. Either way, he’d bet anything there had been stuffed animals on there at some point, in big piles.

 

“No. But I was sleeping.” He ground one hand across his eyes. At least he’d got  _ some  _ sleep. Who knew when Dad or Gregor would show up. Might be days from now, and maybe Dad would forget all about it, like he had last time. Except he’d been drinking more last time.

 

“But you’re not anymore.” 

 

“No. I’m fucking not.” As he grew more awake, a feeling of unreality was growing in him. She’d never called him before. Why had she started now? “What are you drinking?”

 

She’d probably like those colorful drinks they showed on TV, the ones that came in neon colors, in the weird glasses with a tall stem. He bet she’d drink those. But maybe she was just drinking vodka out of a water bottle like he had before.

 

“Brandy.”

 

“Really?”

 

“It’s good in hot chocolate.”

 

He snorted. Of course, she couldn’t just drink it straight. And it was probably good stuff too, like what he never had before.

 

“What?” Her voice was muffled, as though she were drinking more now.

 

“Nothing.”

 

There was a long silence. Sandor cleared his throat. “Look, I bet you’re pretty fucking busy with your chocolate drinks, so I’ll-”

 

“Why do I care?” 

 

She said it abruptly, and there was no laughter left in her voice. “What?”

 

“That’s what I wanted to ask. I remember now. Why do I care?”

 

“Uh-” What did you say to that? To a drunk girl on the phone, who shouldn’t be getting drunk, much less calling  _ him _ for whatever answers she was looking for. “About what?”

 

“About  _ him. _ All of them, really. Joffrey, Margaery, Jeyne-” She broke off with a sigh, and there was more rustling, a gasp, and then a quiet yelp. “Sorry. I spilled it.”

 

“S’alright.” What was she saying sorry to him for? It wasn’t like she’d spilled it on him, like she even could’ve. “Look- come on, you just need to chill out, you’re drunk-”

 

“I am not!” Her voice had risen in pitch, and Sandor jerked the phone away from his ear with a wince, replacing it cautiously when she spoke again. “I am not drunk, I just drank a little. I just wanted to talk, that’s all. Isn’t that what friends do? They talk to each other and help when they need it.”

 

“Is that what we are?” The words came out before he could stop them, and as soon as they had, he wished he could take them back.

 

There was a brief pause. “I thought so.” Another pause. 

 

He should  _ say  _ something. He hadn't meant- hadn’t wanted to make her voice so small. 

 

“I guess I should-”

 

“No! No. You- you called, you wanted to ask.” Though he sure as hell didn’t know the answer. “So- why do you care? He’s an ass, that Joffrey kid, so how come you care what he thinks?”

 

She sniffed, as though she were trying to sound as though she didn’t care at all, but it mostly sounded pathetic to him. “I don’t. Not really. I just wish he’d- they’d all leave me alone.”

 

“Would you still care?” The blankets had warmed back around him by now. He found himself glancing at the door. He would hear if anyone pulled into the drive, would hear if anyone came up here, let alone before they messed with the door or the chain, but still. If Dad or Gregor came home now, and heard him talking to some girl about her  _ feelings _ about some boy-

 

“I guess not.”

 

Sandor picked up the candy bar from next to the bed, and looked at it. For once, he didn’t really feel like eating. He’d got to use the stove in the house for once, and he’d made tons of noodles. Probably he’d be sick of them by the time winter was over, like he’d got last year, but they tasted fucking awesome now.

 

“You don’t  _ guess _ princess, you do or you don’t.”

 

“How come you call me that?”

 

“Princess?”

 

“Yeah. Someone else called me that too, and I think he was making fun of me.” She sounded a little petulant now, like a small child. Absurdly, he felt almost guilty.

 

“Well- you look like one.”

 

“Really?”

 

Fuck. That wasn’t what he meant. “I mean- you’ve got- you’ve got the hair. Long, like- I dunno.” Like he’d even know what a bloody princess was supposed to look like. Did they even have those anymore? There were some still in Dorne, Sandor thought, but not like the ones in girl’s cartoons.

 

“Do you like my hair?” 

 

He would have thought he was still asleep, only if he was asleep, he still wouldn’t have imagined this conversation. “Why the hell do you care?”

 

Why had he even  _ said  _ it?

 

“Well- Joffrey said I should dye it. Blonde, he said. Before we broke up, not now,” she added hastily, as though he couldn’t have worked that out. “Over the summer. He kept telling me it would look nice like that. And his Mum- she told me once that only ‘unpolished’ girls wore their hair down all the time.” She said the word unpolished with spite, though nervously, as though someone would hear her.

 

“That doesn’t- who cares what that cunt and his Mum think. Your hair’s fine.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

That silence came back, and he shifted beneath the blankets. It wasn’t like she could see him, but he still found himself wishing that he could pull something on- a T-shirt at least.  _ Something. _

 

“I guess I should go now. I took this brandy from my Dad’s bottle, and I wanna wash up before he gets home.”

 

“Yeah. Fine.” He drew the quilt up under his chin, waiting. “Bye then.”

 

“Wait- Sandor?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I wanted to say thanks. For answering. I didn’t think- I thought maybe you wouldn’t.”

 

“Sure.” Would he have answered if he’d seen it was her? Maybe not. But the conversation hadn’t been bad, exactly. Not great either, but not bad. More strange than anything. No one ever asked him stuff like that, and no girl ever really talked to him before. Not unless she had to.

 

“I wanted to say- thanks too, for talking to me. I know you don’t always like me-”

 

“I like you fine,” he broke in. Maybe he hadn’t before, but she was alright now. She talked about stupid stuff some of the time, but she laughed at stuff he said and smiled at him sometimes. And she made good muffins.

 

“Thanks.”

 

When she offered nothing else, he cleared his throat. “I’ll see you at school then.”

 

“Yeah. Talk in homeroom tomorrow?”

 

“I- sure.” Then she was gone. Had she said goodbye? Maybe. 

 

It was weird. Talking to a girl. They never really talked to him before, except maybe Mya, and that was different, she  _ had  _ to. But Sansa- she didn’t have to. Not really. She had to know that there were lots of other people she could talk to, who weren’t all shits like her used-to-be friends. And she wasn’t just a girl either, she was a  _ girl _ .

 

But she’d called him, and she said they’d talk more. And they would too, she liked to make him talk to her. Even seemed to like the talking. 

 

Maybe that was what friends did.


	19. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello.

“Do you want this?”

 

He was looking at the sandwich she was offering him with undue suspicion. Like she was trying to poison him or something. Wrinkling her nose, she shook it at him.

 

“Go on. I haven't done anything to it.”

 

“Don’t you want it?” Sandor was still looking strangely at her.

 

“No. I’m not hungry, that’s all.” It was a lie, but he didn’t have to know that. This way, when Mum asked if she’d been eating, if she’d gotten something big for lunch, it would only be half a lie.

 

He took it, and Sansa suppressed a smile. You could always count on a boy to be hungry. She unscrewed the cap of her water bottle- just this, and a snack when she got home, a healthy one. Then some dinner. But not too much.

 

“Look at this- I’ve showed you, how many fucking times now, and you’re still doing it wrong.” He was leaning over to show her a problem, and she nodded, eyes fixed on the paper, but she wasn’t really listening. A sip of water helped to settle her stomach, to calm the insistent grumbling that had been plaguing her since last night. The cool rush of the liquid down her throat and into her stomach helped to stiffen her resolve. Lunch was almost over. She saw Sandor in the halls sometimes, and they might talk, but not alone, like they were now. If she was going to ask, now was the time.

 

“Hey- do you remember that night? Last week? When I called you.” She sat back in her chair, tugging her sweater straight, and resting her pencil on her lower lip, pressing it in a little. He liked when she did that. 

 

And she liked when he looked at her. He never stared, not outright like he had that one time, but he looked. Out of the corner of his eye, or when he thought she couldn’t see. It was nice. To be looked at like that.

 

“Yeah.” His eyes had flickered down to that pencil, and she couldn’t help the upward curve of her lips as he did. He met her gaze then, suddenly, and she was a little surprised to see the skin on the undamaged side for his face reddening. Then he looked away, sitting back in his chair. “Not like I could forget. You were drunk out of your mind, and on bloody hot chocolate.”

 

He laughed, a harsh sound in the quiet room, and Sansa frowned, dropping the pencil to the table with a clatter. “I was not! I only had- I mean- I was buzzed, maybe, but not out of my mind. You know that.” She picked up the pencil again, and poked him with the sharp end, a good hard poke, but not hard enough to hurt. The flush was spreading down his neck now, and she felt vindicated.

 

He pushed his chair back, out of her reach. “Whatever. So yeah, I remember it.” He pulled the worksheet back towards him, and began copying one of the problems into his notebook. “So?”

 

“So-” Sansa grimaced. He wouldn’t like this. She had the feeling that her words would tip the delicate balance between them into his favor, and she was enjoying being the one to put him off, make him uncomfortable for once. “So after I got off with you- I called Joffrey.”

 

He’d picked up the sandwich to take a bite, but at her words swiveled back towards her. “Why would you go and do something stupid like that?” He was scowling, the red flush fading from his face. He bit into the sandwich, and she watched him chew it. Her stomach growled.

 

“I just wanted to see what he’d say.”

 

“So? What did  _ Joff _ say then?” He spoke with his mouth full, downright glaring at at her over it.

 

“He said- not much.” She’d tried her best to seem sober over the phone. It hadn’t been hard. There was no overwhelming urge to giggle bubbling up inside when she spoke to her ex. “I wanted to know why he’d been texting me. And- and trying to talk to me, you know. He said- it doesn't matter what he said.”

 

It didn’t matter that he’d told her, with the tone of someone saying something overwhelmingly obvious, that just because he was going out with Margie didn’t mean they couldn’t see each other too.

 

_ “What do you mean? What do you mean, see each other?”  _

 

_ “Come on. You know what I mean, baby. You’re pretty. Beautiful. I used to tell you, remember? Not as gorgeous as Margaery, but come on,” He laughed. “Who is? Pretty enough for me. I’ve been thinking. I know you wouldn’t have hooked up with that guy, he’s not your type.” He laughed again here, a cruel snigger that put her on edge, but she held herself back. “So- maybe we’ve got this all wrong. If we tell her, you and me, if we tell Margaery that this came out all wrong, then she’ll see sense. She’ll know you didn’t hurt me like that. So how about we tell her? Margie’s having a party on Halloween, you have to know that. Everyone will be there. How about you come? We’ll set things straight.” _

 

She hadn’t been able to answer then, just sat silent on the phone until Joffrey had hung up.

 

“He told me that- that things got all out of hand. That he wants to explain to Margaery and get things straightened out. At her Halloween party. I told you about that, remember? And-” She looked up at him. His eyes were narrowed down at her, but she looked hard at him. Trying to see how he might react. “-I was hoping you might come with me. To the party.” She tried to smile, but it only seemed to come out halfway. With any other boy, this would be easy, even though he knew she meant nothing by it. Though of course, most other boys she had known now half believed she was some sort of school slut.

 

“No.”

 

The word sent a heavy pit into her stomach, even though she had expected it, but she forged on. “Why not? You don’t do anything for Halloween, you told me so. It’s not like- not like we’d dress up or anything, or even stay long. I was just hoping you’d come with me.” To stand with her against the way her former friends wouldn’t look at her, like she didn’t even exist.

 

“No. Sorry,” he said, though she was sure he wasn’t sorry at all. “I have to work, and even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t go near that stupid party in a million fucking years.”

 

“Oh.” She looked at him. He did not meet her eyes, just took another big bite of the sandwich, and pushed the worksheet over at her with undue force. She took it. The bell rang as her hand closed over it, and he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

 

“Wait!” He’d left half his stuff here, and she grabbed his notebook and pencils, all in a jumble with hers, and hurried after him. He was already in the hallway, and though he was easy enough to spot, with his height and build, she couldn’t part a crowd like he could. When they walked together, they might be jostled by a few elbows, but for the most part, people got out of their way. Alone, she had to duck and weave her way through the crowded hall, trying desperately to catch up to him.

 

It didn’t work. She was almost there when he’d ducked into his classroom, leaving her standing outside, buffeted by the student around her, clutching his things. She ran to her own classroom, narrowly avoiding lateness.

 

Settling into her desk, and shooting a quick glance at the back of Jeyne’s head, where she sat with Rose and Vio, she tried to sort out the mess of papers and notebooks. It was easy enough when you looked- Sansa was proud of her penmanship, always tried to make sure she wrote clearly and prettily. Sandor had spiky handwriting, pushing so hard that he nearly punched through the page in his notebook to the one behind it. 

 

Why had he run off like that? It wasn’t like she was asking him to be nice to any of them, or to make friends. Just to come with her.

 

Maybe it was the very idea that he would voluntarily go to a party at Margie’s house. Sandor always seemed to to take it as almost a point of pride that he wouldn’t talk to anybody here. Anybody but her, anyway. To him, they were all pricks and bitches, stupid rich kids.

 

Later. She would talk to him later. They usually walked together near the end of the day, her to gym and he to the history class down the hall from her.

  
  


\---------

  
  


“Look, I’m sorry I asked you to come.” Sansa held out the notebooks and papers she’d identified as belonging to him, and Sandor snatched them from her without looking. “That wasn’t fair, it’s not like you have anything to do there, or like you know anybody.”

 

He slammed the locker shut, and started walking down the hall so fast she had to jog to keep up. People were looking funny at them, as she panted along behind him, still trying to talk.

 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just wanted you to come. For me, you know? But you don’t have to.”

 

He stopped suddenly, turning around to face her, leaning against the wall as though he hadn’t just been power walking down the hallway. “Why do you even care? What those shits think, if they’re your  _ friends. _ They’re not worth anything, what they did to you.”

 

He spoke calmly, but he was angry. She could tell.

 

“I don’t.” He just looked at her, then wheeled around, and started walking again. “Look- look, I mean I don’t care if they’re my friends. I don’t  _ need _ them.” It didn’t matter if Margie’s eyes passed over her like she didn’t exist, or if Jeyne always put her bag down next to herself on the bus, blocking out the seat beside her. Or if Rose had deleted the picture of the two of them on Instagram. “I just want them all to know. That they were  _ wrong _ about me, that they can’t just make stuff up to make me seem-  _ dirty. _ ” She flushed at her own words- they seemed at once childish and old lady like, prudish. 

 

He stopped again, this time not turning to look at her. They had reached his classroom. When he finally did turn his head, looked down at her, almost expressionless. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.

 

“Can- can I call you after? When do you work? I mean-” She bit her lip. She wanted very much to not sound like a child, but she wanted- she just wanted. “It would be nice. To talk to you. To talk to a friend after. I’m not gonna stay long. Just long enough to say- whatever I need to say.”

 

He looked down at her for a long moment. “I work in the morning.”

 

“On Halloween? Next Sunday?” He nodded, and she couldn’t help but smile a bit. “Could I see you then? If you’re not working? Not at the party,” she added hastily, “Just after. My Mum doesn’t know about any of this, I’m gonna tell her I’m going to the party, and she’ll think I’ll be out late. We can go- somewhere.” She trailed off, feeling a little foolish.

 

Sandor looked at the floor, and she bit her lip. Waiting. When he nodded, she grinned, clutching the strap of her backpack hard in one hand. “Awesome! Thank you, so much.”

 

“Sure.” He didn’t look entirely thrilled, but that didn't matter. He would be there, and she wouldn't be running away when she left the others. She had plans. 

 

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

 

“Sure,” he said again. There was an almost awkward moment of silence, as they both stood facing one another. Clearing her throat, Sansa hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. “I’d better-”

 

“Must be nice.”

 

She opened her mouth to answer, or to ask what he meant, but he was already gone.


	20. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've said it before, but I'm gonna try to update more often. It helps to write every day, even if it's only a little. Helps me get back into the swing of things, and get excited by telling myself a story.

He felt a little like letting his head slip down to lay on the table, but he didn’t. It wasn’t like it was even a bad grade. In fact, a few years ago he would have been vaguely satisfied with it. But that would have been back when he’d only gone to school to get the free lunch. Before grades had stopped being some numbers that showed up on his desk every now and again.

 

Before Kingswood.

 

He shoved the test into his backpack, scowling to himself. Sansa was sitting beside him, like she always did in this class, but she didn’t look like she wanted to talk to him for once. She was bent over her own test, looking over the answers.

 

It was one test. Probably wouldn’t even drop his English grade at all, let alone his GPA. And even if it did, he was above the threshold he needed to maintain. 

 

But still.

 

He was losing focus, he could feel it. Or maybe, he was finding it. The longer he spent here, at this school where even the idiots could count on at least another few years of school after graduating, before they entered the real world- as though they ever would rally, with dads with companies, who could give them a job no matter what. The longer he spent here, the more he wondered why. Why did he bother worrying about grades, or who he was tutoring, or whether he was pissing off nosy librarians.

 

It wasn’t like he was doing badly. Better than Gregor or Dad, anyway. He had a job, like they never did. One he had kept for almost two months now. And a car that he paid for, fair and square, so it was really his.

 

Sandor shifted in his seat, snorting out a laugh under his breath. Sansa turned to look at him, but he ignored her, lowering his face like he was looking through the bag next to him, one hand shuffling through the contents at random.

 

Right. Doing well. He was doing everything right, and he still wasn’t fucking getting what he needed, what everyone thought you would get if you did the right things. Dad was back in the house, and Gregor was there enough that he was avoiding it again. These past few days, he’d had to resort to sleeping in the car again, crunched up in the back seat and hoping that cop wouldn’t show. He was eating bananas, peanut butter, and bread when he was lucky. Less when he wasn’t.

 

So what was the point? Of any of this? He’d asked those questions before, last fall. And somehow, applying here and dealing with all this shit had seemed like a better idea than dropping out and finding his own place. He could do it, if he had the time. Plenty of guys did that.

 

But here he was instead, Thinking about how many fucking points he’d got taken off of his stupid test.

 

“Hey-” He turned this time, to see Sansa smiling at him. The teacher must have said something, because everyone else was moving, and there was a packet of paper on his desk he didn’t remember getting. “Move.”

 

He moved his arm out of the way almost automatically, and she pushed her desk closer, so that it pressed against his. She flipped her hair back, opening her own packet. “Who do you want to read for?”

 

“I-” he glanced around, hearing everybody else start talking too, a low rumbling that filled the room. “What are we doing?”

 

“We’re reading Macbeth. We’re supposed to read the first scene together, like we were performing it.” Sansa wrinkled her nose, squinting down at the page. “There’s a bunch of different stuff here, so I guess we’ll just take turns.”

 

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Sure.”

 

She smiled at him again, shifting in her seat as though any amount of wiggling would make the hard plastic chair more comfortable.

 

“Do you want to start then?” 

 

He didn’t want to read the stupid play at all. Not having to act everything out sort of, and not now. He could look it over during History, when Mr. Corey was talking about what he’d had for breakfast or what his sports team was, or whatever the fuck else he liked to talk about before actually starting to teach them anything. 

 

But Sansa would want to. And he’d been trying- he’d been trying. He thought she’d noticed. She smiled at him more now. She’d started texting too. At first just about where they would meet after that shit party she wanted to go to. She’d got all excited when she’d remembered he had a car, because they could go more places. She still couldn’t decide, and he didn’t really care. Now she liked to send him stuff sometimes, when she was at home or when they were in class. Bitching about the teachers, or sending him links he couldn’t follow when he wasn’t at school, or emojis that his phone sometimes couldn’t see.

 

“Sure.” 

 

She lifted the packet in from of her, like she was trying out for a play or something, and started to read.

  
  


\------

  
  


“Can you be here on Monday? I know you have off, but I’d only need you for a few hours.”

 

“Yeah,” Sandor said, “Yeah, I could do that. No problem.”

 

Ed blinked up at him. “I wouldn’t ask, you know, but that I’ve got a shipment coming in. I tried to get them to come on a day you were already here, but they said Monday was it for next week, and I need them before that weekend.”

 

“It’s not a problem. Really.” Less than not a problem, actually. The extra money would suit him fine. 

 

Ed turned away, picking up the magazine he’d been reading, and the sack that he’d brought his lunch in. Sandor always wondered why he bothered. He lived just upstairs; if he wanted he could lock the doors for a minute to go get something. 

 

“Hey-” Ed turned around. Sandor swallowed. His mouth felt a bit dry. It wasn’t that he was nervous around Ed really- it was hard to be. He didn’t take shit, even though he always expected it, but there was just something quiet about him. Like he didn’t think he was better than anybody. But he  _ could  _ take away Sandor’s job whenever he wanted, even if he probably wouldn’t, so long as Sandor did what he was told. That was enough to make anyone a little nervous. “So- I wanted to ask- the shipment, it’s not for the store, is it?”

 

It wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t, they weren’t running low on anything. It was him who kept track of that, and who was supposed to tell Ed if they were. When Ed minded the store, he didn’t like getting up if he could help it.

 

“No, it’s for that job we’re doing for the Frey family.” Ed grimaced at that, and Sandor worked hard not to do the same. The Addam who was forever trying to get into Sansa’s pants was a Frey. “Creepy old burk. Always wants things done just right, but he doesn’t tell us he wants a different fucking color of mulch until we’ve already got everything ready.” He shook his head. “It won’t be here long, just a couple of days. I’m having Criston go out with me next Sunday. Get it all done in one shot, if we can.”

 

Sandor nodded, though he didn’t know who the hell Criston was, or anything about the job. He had always known that Ed did a good bit of landscaping as well, for some of the better-kept houses further up the lower district, and for a few of the businesses up there too. He had one company truck, with a garish blue and white design that you could see a mile away. He’d been seeing that truck chugging around town for years now.

 

“Also- I wanted to ask about this weekend. Saturday. I know I’m supposed to be in for the night- is there anyway I can do morning instead?” It was stupid to be feeling jittery over this. Mya asked all the time, and she always could change up. Ed had said to his face that he didn’t care how they switched shifts on the weekend, so long as they did their work.

 

“Sure.” He said it casually, with no great fanfare. Then he’d turned, with his magazine clutched in one hand, and the paper sack in the other, and was gone.

 

“Is that what you were on about?” Mya had come in in all a rush while they had been talking. When Sandor just looked at her, she shrugged. “What? I knew something was up. You kept looking around every time you saw Ed, sort of dancing on your toes. I just thought whatever it was would be bigger than  _ that _ . You know he doesn’t care if we switch up on the weekends.”

 

Sandor scowled, turning away to walk towards the back room. He didn’t dance, on his toes or anywhere else.

 

Ducking through the half open staff door, Sandor crossed the small space that Ed called the break room, though as far as Sandor could tell, no one really used it. But there was a coffee maker in here, and a microwave, on a small round table with two folding chairs. With the exception of the appliances, all were covered in a light layer of dust.

 

Behind it, back room was nearly empty, just like it had been yesterday. There were shelves in here, some wooden and rickety, some made out of metal. The only things on them were a few sacks of grass seed and loam, scattered among the shelves, and a bundle of shiny plastic shovels for when the snow came.

 

There wasn’t much to do back here, just moving everything onto one shelf, to make room. There wasn’t much to do anywhere today, to be honest. Sometimes he wondered how Ed could afford this place, much less Mya and him. He got a few small orders a day, and a few bigger ones a week. It couldn’t be making much. Maybe he just kept it here for the storage. But then Mya had said that business was better in the spring, that the whole place was stuffed full of seeds and sod and flower pots as much as screws and tools. She said he even sold flowers last year, and was thinking about doing it again this year.

 

Back up front, Mya was sitting at the counter, flicking through her phone with a bored look on her face. “So,” she said as Sanddor emerged, “you got Halloween plans then?”

 

When he didn’t answer, she looked up. “Or not. But I know what next Saturday is.” She also had to know that Sandor, unlike herself, didn’t spend his time off with friends.

 

He shrugged. She sounded more bored than curious, and Mya wasn’t the sort who’d want to pry, or try to mock him when she found something out, but he didn’t feel like talking about it. “Not really.”

 

“Uh huh.” She was back on her phone again, not paying him any attention. That was just fine with him. She was wearing a denim vest thing, with metal studs in it that sparkled under the light, and a white top under. She was good to look at.

 

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Sandor pulled it out.

 

_ i can’t decide help me _

 

He waited for Sansa clarify, and enough time passed that he was about to text her back to ask what the hell she meant. Then the pictures came through. Before he could really register more than the short dress in one, leaving her legs bare to the thigh, she had sent another text.

 

_ for the party _

 

He grimaced. Of course it was for the fucking party. She talked about it every day. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to get him to say he’d come with her after all, by bringing it up so much, or if she just really thought about it that often. Probably she did. She said something about it at least once a day, with growing hope in her voice. Just today, at lunch, she’d said that her stupid ex with his stupid name and the stupid car begging to be scratched had walked right by her that morning, and not said anything, even though his friends had been grinning at her. As though that meant anything. But her wide eyes had said that  _ she _ thought it did.

 

Like he was just gonna invite her back in to her old friends, like nothing had ever happened. Like he hadn’t treated her like a four dollar hooker, leaving her alone like that. Not that he’d been much nicer when they’d been together, she’d told him a bit about that. 

 

Of course, she’d fucking love it if that happened, if they all brought her back into their group. She could laugh and smile with all her stupid idiot friends, and it would all be back to normal. She could forget the last month ever happened.

 

He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

  
  


\-------

  
  


The ramen tasted like shit, but at least it was something. It crunched enough that he could almost pretend it was chips, like they had at school. It went down slow, and he washed it down with a swig from the bottle of water that tasted like last night’s sandwich.

 

The phone buzzed in his pocket again, and he scowled into the darkness. It had happened a few times earlier too. He hadn’t looked, not with the growing weight in his chest, and with Mya bitching about having to clean the bathroom tomorrow. Sandor had half expected her to tell him to do it, but she’d half smiled at him like she knew what he was thinking, and had said that Ed had told her that she had to stop expecting him to do all the heavy work.

 

His knees were crunched up, but the blanket over him had been warmed by his body heat by now, and the backpack made a halfway decent pillow. Even if it was a bit lumpier than the one back in the shed.

 

He frowned. He’d been expecting to be able to sleep there for the winter. Gregor had disappeared for long enough that Sandor had figured he’d fucked off somewhere, to stay with some of the scum he called friends, like he did sometimes when he got tired of sharing the beer with Dad. But then he’d turned up again, unfolding himself from a car with a black eye and a glare at nothing in particular. He’d thought it would be better to- well, to sleep in his fucking car again. It had worked so far, but he couldn’t trust that he’d stay lucky. He never did.

 

Groping in his pocket, Sandor pulled out the phone. Even that stupid party was better to think of.

 

She had send a few questioning texts following the pictures, but he ignored those. That picture of her in the dress, that was what he wanted to see. It was short, nothing like he ever saw her wear to school. The skirt stopped at mid-thigh, the whiteness of it lending Sansa’s pale skin some color. She had her phone in one hand, the other in her hair, holding it up like it was pulled back. The scooped collar wasn’t as low as he would have liked to see it, but he could see the lines of her collar bone in the glare of the mirror.

 

He frowned.

 

The other one was grey, and sort of knitted looking. She had her hair loose, and her free hand planted on her hip, toe pointed like she was some kind of model. At least the grin she was trying to suppress told him she knew how stupid she looked.

 

Except that she didn’t. Not really. He scrolled back to the other picture. She was smiling in this one, a full smile, not one she was holding back. Like she knew how good she looked in the dress. But then why did she care what he though?

 

Flicking back to the other one, he looked at it harder. She looked- different in the knitted one. More like the girl he ate lunch with, the one who wore cardigans and sweatshirts, and skirts in bright colors. The other picture looked kind of like how she might be when she got older. It was tight in all the right places, without looking like she was trying too hard. It was the sort of dress a trophy girl would wear, while she was trying to turn into a trophy wife.

 

He groaned, letting the phone come down to rest against his chin- sometime during all the looking, it had gotten so close that he hardly had to lower it at all.

 

It had to happen sometime. 

 

He took a long, deep breath, and picked the phone up again. The picture hadn’t changed.

 

Was she wearing it for him? Joffrey, who she said she hated, who she kept saying she wanted nothing to do with, but who had invited her to the party. And she was going. 

 

Even if she wasn’t wearing it for him, he would still see her in it, and want her, if he had a brain and a working cock. Or maybe just one of the two. But that was probably what she wanted, to go and show them all that no matter what they said she was still- her. Better than all of them. That Margaery girl she talked about sometimes, she thought she was hot shit. Anyone could see it, the way she walked around the school with her nose in the air. She was pretty- hot even, but if you took away the clothes and the hair and the makeup, she would just be another pretty girl. And there were plenty of those.

 

Maybe they would remember when they saw her, that Sansa was something else. Joffrey, and all those boys who’d been sniffing around her, and all the rest of the people who’d dumped her. She probably wanted them to.

 

But if they got it, then he would too. Sansa wanted to have plans after, she’d admitted that to him. She wanted to go in there and get her fucking apology, and then sail out like she had somewhere better to be. Even if it wasn’t somewhere better. Even if it was with him. He could have her in his car, even if it was a piece of trash next to her boyfriend’s or her dad’s or everyone else’s. She would be there, and she would be excited and would talk to him. And he could have that, even if on Monday she was back sitting with that blonde friend of hers, the one that always looked like she’d shit her pants if he ever tried to talk to her. He’d still be tutoring her, even if the rest of it went away. And he’d still have her in that dress.

 

He texted quickly, glancing at the battery to check the charge- he’d forgotten to plug it in today, in the store, and it would probably die soon.

 

_ the white one. _


	21. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Party time.

“I can’t believe you’re going.”

 

Sansa did her best to ignore Arya, turning from side to side in front of the mirror. She’d only wore this dress once before, to Aunt Lysa’s engagement party. The man who would be her uncle- what was his name? But that didn’t matter. He’d told her she looked just like her mother at that age, and Sansa had preened under the attention. Aunt Lysa hadn’t liked that much, Sansa could tell. But then, her aunt didn’t like anything much.

 

“Sansa! You never said why. You’re going, and you never said why.  _ He’s _ going to be there, you know he is.”

 

Sansa rolled her eyes at her reflection in the mirror as she began to brush her hair back. Arya had been going on like this for five minutes now. She would have made her sister leave, only then Arya might go to Father. She probably wouldn’t- the worst thing in to world to Arya was Telling. She and Sansa had fought over it countless times when they’d been younger, but then Sansa had only been Telling because Arya had been taking her things, taking them and trying to spoil them. They got along better now, when Arya had decided that, for the most part, she didn’t  _ want _ Sansa’s things anyway.

 

“He’s going to do something horrible.” 

 

Sansa scowled, releasing the mass of her hair to swing back down around her face. “He is not!”

 

“How do you know? He’s been awful to you, why would he start being nice now?”

 

“Because-” Sansa turned sharply, snatching her bag from where it lay on her bedspread. “Why does it matter? It’s none of your business. You’re going to Lommy’s house, right? I don’t bother you about all that.”

 

When she turned around, Arya was somehow  _ right there _ , even though Sansa never heard her move. She looked younger than she usually did, in her oversized jeans and t-shirt. “ _ Lommy’s _ my friend. He wouldn’t be anymore, if he ever said any of those things. I wouldn’t let him. Or Hot Pie, or any of them.” 

 

“Why do you call him that? His name’s Bernard.” Sansa ducked around Arya, and began groping for her earrings. The party had started already, more than an hour ago. But she’d wanted to come in after everybody else was already there. She moved to the mirror again, even though she could do this without looking. The earrings were small, glimmering hoops. She’d wanted- understated. Sort of. Really, she wanted to just look like- like she didn’t have to try so hard, to be like this. Like the way Margie had always looked. Effortless, but put together.

 

“You’re so pathetic.”

 

Sansa whirled around, fuming.  _ That _ was too much. “Oh,  _ I’m _ pathetic am I? At least I’ve got some place to be, at least I’m going to a party. Not like you. You and those boys, you’ll just watch stupid movies all night! I know you will, so don’t you call  _ me _ pathetic.” She stared at Arya for a minute, chest heaving, feeling the flush of her anger rising in her cheeks. Then, she turned away, back towards the mirror, taking up her brush again. “Go away Arya.”

 

“No.” She just sat on Sansa’s bed, with her arms wrapped around her knees like a small, gap-toothed gargoyle. In the following silence, Sansa brushed her hair out, pulling it high up on the back of her head, so that the hanging tail tickled the back of her neck. She was almost ready now, almost to the point where she could just leave, where Arya couldn’t follow her. Putting down the brush, Sansa put her hands high up on her sides, just under her breasts, and slid them down and in, over her stomach and sides. Satisfyingly flat. But not like  _ her. _

 

Arya was still glaring at her in the mirror. Sansa dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m not going for him, you know.” Arya just looked her up and down, the expression on her face not changing. “I’m not!”

 

“Then how come you’re all-” Arya flicked a hand at her, “ What’s that for, if not for him?”

 

“It’s not for him!” Sansa moved over to sit on the bed next to Arya. She wanted- wanted to  _ tell _ her. Sandor didn’t get it, but Arya might. “I want to show them. I- I think Joff told them lies about me. I mean, I know he did. I want to show them all it’s not true.” 

 

_ I’m just as good as they are. _

 

“How’s dressing up like that gonna help?” Arya didn’t look so angry any more. More curious.

 

“I guess-” Sansa shrugged, feeling a little uncomfortable. “I guess I want to look- better. Than them.” She finished a little hurriedly, ducking her head. Arya of two years ago would have laughed at her, and told her she was stupid. She even looked something like her eleven year old self today, with her baggy clothes and hair all in a lopsided braid. But sometimes she spent almost as much time getting ready for school as Sansa did, even if she wouldn’t admit it. And she’d caught her sister using her makeup more than once.

 

“Better than Margaery?” Arya was looking right at her. 

 

“Yeah.” It was an uncomfortable admission, but there it was.

 

Arya looked at her critically. “Stand up.”

 

Sansa hesitated- Arya might have finally realized, this past year, that she was actually a girl, but they had never gone this far. But who else did she have to ask? She rose to her feet, feeling suddenly a little awkward in the tight dress. She stood straight, resisting the urge to suck in her stomach.

 

She knew Sandor had liked it, this dress. At least, she thought he had. It had taken a bit of bravery to send him the pictures. She knew he liked her, or even if he didn't really  _ like _ her, he liked to look at her. It had become something to look forward to, in its own way. After Joffrey, Sansa had taken to wearing clothes that somewhat resembled Arya’s outfit, although they fit her better. Once the attention from the boys had died down, she had felt brave enough to wear some of her prettier clothes. She still remembered that first day, when she had worn her favorite skirt. It was her favorite now, anyway. It was a blue one, that fell to her knees, and had been one of the very first skirts she’d dared worn after everything had settled. He’d been showing her equations, and she had her legs crossed, one knee resting atop the other. She had looked up at him, to see if she’d gotten the problem right, but he hadn’t been looking at the paper. He’d been looking at her legs, where the skirt had slid up over her knee. Instead of feeling exposed, and wanting to tug the cloth down as far as it would go, she had felt a startling rush of excitement. Something akin to when she and Joffrey had started going out, and he had put his arm around her waist for the first time, or when they’d spent the day in his family’s pool with Jeyne and Margaery and all the rest, and she’d caught him staring openly at her. Sandor didn’t stare, not really. He snuck glances, and she couldn’t deny that she liked it. 

 

He’d taken so long to answer that she’d worried that it had been too much- too forward, to send the pictures. But then he’d answered, and she had pulled the dress back on, stood in front of the mirror, and tried to see what he’d seen in the picture. So she knew the boys would think she looked good. But that didn’t matter as much as the rest of them.

 

“Well?” Arya was looking her up and down, tongue between her teeth.

 

She say back on the bed, supporting herself with her arms in a mock-casual pose. “I guess it’ll do.”

 

“Arya! Be serious.” Sansa crossed her arms over her chest.

 

“Fine. You look good, OK?”

 

“But good how? I mean- you know what I mean.”

 

“You look- kinda classy. But sexy too.” Aya glanced up at Sansa, her eyes lighting up. “She’s gonna be so jealous.”

 

“Come on, don’t be stupid. Jealous how?” Margaery was never jealous of anyone.

 

“She’s so skinny- she’ll never have your boobs, not unless she gets implants.” Arya grinned as Sansa’s mouth fell open. “I bet she’s always wished she did. I saw when she came over that one time, she was wearing this dress that was cut way way low, and she couldn’t fill it out like you can. It was when she slept over, and you traded dresses remember? She wasn’t happy when she saw you in hers.”

 

“How did you even see that? We were in my room.” Sansa remembered that night- she and Margie had liked to dress up when they saw each other, both for the fun of it and because each was aware that the other had a crush on their respective brothers. Sansa had enjoyed Margaery’s infatuation with Robb, because it had made her feel a bit better about the other girl’s pointed smirks every time Sansa had blushed over Loras. They had talked about the places they’d go when they were old enough, the clubs they’d go to and how they would dance together. Margie had even said, with her voice lowered, that maybe they could get some fake IDs so that they wouldn’t have to wait. She’d been laughing about how Sansa could make Joffrey jealous, and how she herself could find a “cute college guy” to go out with. Sansa’s lips thinned. “Nevermind. And anyway, she wasn’t jealous. She thinks she’s so- she’d never be jealous of me, not in a million years.”

 

“She was though.” Arya’s grin grew wider. “She looked right at your boobs, when you both came down to get snacks, and she looked like she wanted to rip them off.”

 

“Arya!” But Sansa was grinning too now, turning to look in the mirror again. They  _ did _ look nice in this dress, even though she wasn’t even showing any cleavage. “Do you really think so?”

 

“I know so.” Arya was getting up now, which Sansa should have expected. There was only so long Arya could talk about clothes. But she hesitated as she reached the door. “You really do look good, Sansa.”

 

“Thanks.” The door snicked closed behind her, and Sansa turned back to the mirror. It was now or never, if this would all get fixed, the way it was supposed to be. She slid her feet into her heels.

  
  


\-------

  
  


Margaery’s house was intimidating today, although the front of it had not been decorated for the holiday. It was beautiful- it had always been beautiful. In the summer, a controlled riot of flowers had adorned the front yard, and even more had wound through the spacious back garden. Now, the climbing roses were just vines, climbing artfully over the front of the house. She felt small on the front sidewalk, one foot out of a heel, so that she might rub at her ankles. The Tyrell house was only a few streets away from her own, but she had walked so quickly that her feet had begun to ache.

 

The party was well in swing; she could see that in the cars parked up and down the street, and hear it in the swell of voices from around back, where the gardens were.

 

For a moment, Sansa wished that she could turn away. Forget the whole thing ever happened. But someone could come out and see her leaving. And then they would talk, and make up their own version of why she had been leaving.

 

Slipping her foot back into place, Sansa squared her shoulders. It would be almost as bad to be seen lingering out front than it would be to be seen leaving. She had every right to be here; Joff had invited her. Going straight around the house and into the gardens seemed too brave, so she made her way up the stone path towards the doorway, her heels clicking quickly along. The cool air on her legs was making her shiver, but she held herself straight and tall.

 

The door, as she had suspected, was open. Easing her way inside, she paused. All was almost as she had expected- there were orange and black lights strung up around the living room, and music coming from the open door that led to the basement bar, or ‘party room’, as Margaery had called it. But the people were- older. 

 

Had she mistaken the day? Sansa shook her head. No- this was definitely a Halloween party. The people around the room were paying her no attention, and had the light, giggly look of people who had been drinking. But the cold feeling in her gut was growing

 

Sansa felt her breath explode with relief when she saw Mathos, a boy on the Baseball team with Joff come stumbling out of the kitchen, clutching a plastic cup. He blinked when he saw Sansa, but didn’t head her way. Just shouldered his way through the other people, and down the stairs towards the music. Heart beating hard, Sansa followed.

 

The party room looked- perfect. Just like what she had always thought a party should look like, like what she’d imagined when she and Margie had been drinking down here alone. It was Halloween themed, of course, but not many of the party goers dancing or sitting on the couches or at the bar were wearing costumes. Most of them were older, like the people upstairs- around Robb’s age. Sansa craned her neck, and though she did see a familiar face or two in the crowd, they were not who she wanted to see.

 

“Sansa!” 

 

She turned to face the call, and found herself face to face with Loras, Margie’s brother.

 

“Oh! Hi, I didn’t see you!” She smiled, hoping she didn’t look too silly. Of course, of course. He would be home for the weekend, back from college. He must have invited all of his friends too. Would he know that she and Margie were- no, probably not. She laughed a little giddily, shaking her head. It really did seem perfect, just the way she would have planned. But then, Margaery liked to do things like that. Perfect. Sansa tried to push that thought out of her head. “How are you? I didn’t know that you’d be here!”

 

Loras grinned, and Sansa felt her face color. The light was low, and she was grateful for it. “My sister said she wanted a big party, and what kind of brother would I be if I didn’t help out.” Sansa opened her mouth, but fund she didn’t quite know what to say. She smiled instead, a little shakily. When the quiet between them went on for too long, Loras spoke again. “But where are my manners? Have a drink?”

 

Sansa nodded, clutching her bag tightly in her hand. Who cared where Joffrey was, or if Margaery were dancing down here somewhere? Loras was getting her a drink.

 

Or, more specifically, his boyfriend was. Renly grinned at Sansa from behind the bar. He was older than everybody else here, so far as Sansa could tell, but looked at ease. “What can I get you, Miss Sansa? Cosmo? Daiquiri? Sex on the beach?” He raised his eyebrows at that one. Sansa giggled, glancing at Loras. He just smirked, leaning over to grab up his own drink

 

“I- I don’t know.” She felt silly admitting it, but would feel even sillier if she didn’t like whatever he would make her.

 

“Strawberry Daiquiri then. Can’t go wrong there.” He turned away, laughing at something a girl on the other side of Sansa had said. Sansa turned to say something- anything to Loras, but found him already talking with someone else. 

 

Luckily, Renly made the drink quickly, with the whir of a blender, and slid the dark pink concoction in front of her with a smile and a wink. She took it hesitantly, and waited until his back was to her before taking a sip. It was a cool, frosty, and surprisingly sweet drink. With Loras otherwise occupied, and Renly paying no attention to her, Sansa sipped it slowly, watching the people around her. Some of the people dancing were off-beat with the music, but she watched them anyway.

 

“Sansa? Come dance with us.” She looked up, and saw Loras looking towards her, getting up with a few girls, and Rely coming out from behind the bar.

 

Warmth blossomed in her stomach, and that wasn’t from her drink. Or maybe it was, a little- it made her feel braver. “If you think you can keep up,” she said, putting on her best smile.

 

Renly laughed, and ran a hand overtop of her head. “Joff’s an idiot to have ever let you go, you know that?” She looked up at him quickly, but he was already walking towards the dancers, with a hand in Loras’s back pocket. Putting her bag down at the bar beside her drink, Sansa hurried to follow them, trying to suppress her grin. She didn’t know Renly well, having only met him once or twice, and briefly at that, but she knew he liked to needle Joff. 

 

The floor was so crowded that she was afraid she would lose Loras and his friends, but as the music swelled, they seemed to close in around her, and then they were dancing. She had always been a bit awkward at this kind of dancing, but with the alcohol in her belly, with the perfection of the room and with Loras Tyrell close enough to touch, it all fell away.

 

The two girls who had come with them were laughing, dancing on each side, and Loras and Renly wove among them, seeming to dance with each in turn. Loras caught her hand and spun her around, and Sansa threw back her head and laughed.

 

Then, a body was behind her own, hands on her hips. She froze, not quite sure what to do.

 

When she was able to turn around, she met beautiful, light blue eyes and sparkling white teeth smiling at her. “What’s your name, babe?”

 

“I-”

 

But then Loras was there again, rolling his eyes. “Cool it, Harry. She’s my sister’s friend.”

 

“So?” Harry’s hand slid down to her lower back, and Sansa jumped.

 

“So she’s sixteen, and in high school.”

 

She wasn’t even that, for a few more months. The boy’s hands flew off her hips, and that charming smile turned down at the corners into a scowl. “Fuck! What’s she doing down here then?” He scowled at Sansa, as though it were her fault.

 

Renly wrapped his arms around Loras’s middle, resting his chin on his shoulder. “What did it look like? She was just dancing.”

 

The boy disappeared with another glare at Sansa, and she turned towards Renly. “What did I do?”

 

“Nothing.” Loras shook his head. “Not your fault he’s a perv.”

 

“Better go upstairs kid, where the boys are your age. In that dress, you’ll be beating them off all night.” He pulled Loras around, dancing so close with him that Sansa felt she shouldn’t be watching. “Go show my nephew what he’s missing.”

 

Sansa waited, but nobody said anything else to her. Struggling through the dancers, she made her way back to the bar, to grab her purse. After a brief hesitation, she downed the rest of her drink as well. If she was done dancing, that meant she was going upstairs, and if she were going upstairs, she might need her courage.

 

The cooler air upstairs felt good on her flushed skin, and she took a moment to walk into the kitchen. More people were in here, some her own age. There were more drinks up here, familiar ones, not like the colorful concoction that Renly had mixed up for her. But no- she wanted to keep her head. A soda can from the cooler was a better choice, and she pressed it to her cheek, enjoying the icy feel.

 

Taking a deep breath, Sansa moved towards the kitchen doorway. Someone came in at the same time, laughing and looking of her shoulder, and walked right into her. “Hey!” Sansa gasped, holding her soda out so that is spilled over her wrist instead of down her front. The girl in front of her was wearing a pretty black dress, and a mask made up with jewel blue feathers and sequins. The brown eyes behind the mask widened as they saw her, and she turned, hurrying away, blond hair bouncing on her shoulders.

 

“Rose?” Sansa called after her, but she didn’t turn. Steeling herself, Sansa hurried behind her, towards the back door. It seemed that nearly everyone she knew was out here- a big table and lots of chairs were set up. Most of the girls were wearing some sort of costume, but none of the boys were. Following the bounce of Rose’s bright hair was easy, and Sansa followed her to a cluster of chairs beneath a large oak tree strung with more of those orange lights.

 

In the dim light, Sansa saw Margie laughing, sitting perched on Joffrey’s knees, and had to swallow down a wave of nausea. The next few steps were like walking through concrete.

 

Margie looked up, and the laughter died on her face. For a long moment, the talk and chatter around them went on, though Margie was staring at Sansa, right along with Rose, who had sat down hastily in a chair. Joffrey was looking up at Sansa with his lips pressed together- she had hoped he would look more encouraging.

 

She stepped forward as the others in the group looked around, finally aware that talk was stopping. She swallowed. “Hi-”

 

As she spoke, Joff patted Margaery’s hip, and she stood. He rose to his feet as well, and without so much as a word, turned towards the table of snacks. Sansa turned to watch him go, mouth open. When she turned back, they were all looking at her. Rose, Margaery, Vio, Alla- even Jeyne, wearing a short brown dress and mascara whiskers, with a smudge of pink lipstick on her nose. Around their little bubble, the other party-goers talked and laughed, unaware or uncaring that Sansa was there.

 

It was Margie who broke the silence. “Sansa.” She sat down, and gestured to the chair beside her. Sansa sat, willing her hands not to tug at the hem of her dress. It rode even higher when she sat down.

 

For a long beat, Sansa looked at Margie, hoping she might start this- maybe Joff had told her. But she said nothing. “I know- I know we haven't talked. Since everything.” She glanced up at Jeyne. She was hovering with a can of soda in one hand, and a bag of chips in the other. There was no empty chair for her, and it occurred to Sansa that she had taken Jeyne’s seat. She turned back to Margie firmly. She wasn’t here for Jeyne.

 

“But I want us to make up. Joffrey- has he said anything?” She looked around, but Joffrey had settled in with a group of his friends, and didn’t so much as look towards her.

 

Margie had sat up straighter at that, looking hard at Sansa like she never had before. “Should he have?”

 

Sansa nodded. “He said you wanted to make up. He said all this got out of hand, and he wanted to make it right.” Margaery just looked at her. “He invited me here!” Sansa glanced at the other girls, and saw Megga roll her eyes.

 

“He did. He invited me.” Pulling her phone from her pocket, scrolling through her texts until she found what she wanted. “See?” Margaery took the phone when Sansa handed it to her, and Jeyne sidled over to her, looking over her shoulder. Sansa glared at her until she looked up, and then her eyes flinched away.

 

Margie handed the phone back without a word. She looked at Sansa for a long moment, and then her eyes went down to her shoes. Black, peep-toed shoes. A wrinkle was forming between her eyebrows.

 

“He said- he lied. You know that he lied, don’t you?” 

 

Margaery looked up then, after a long moment. She still wasn't smiling. “I’m sorry, Sansa.” She said it as though she really were. But anger was growing, and it was all she could do to rise to her feet.

 

“You know what? I’ve got to go. I’ve got-” Sansa took a long breath, standing up straight, to her full height. “I’ve got somewhere to be.” She walked away slowly, towards the path that would take her to the front of the house. It felt like people were watching her- she hoped they were, but if so, she couldn’t see them. It was as though a haze had dropped over her vision.

 

She was just walking past the cluster of shiny cars out front, when a hand caught her arm. She whirled around, jaw set. It was him. Of course it was him. “You! Where were you? Why did you just leave like that? I thought you wanted to help!”

 

Joffrey shrugged. “I figured you both would want to work it out on your own. Go OK?”

 

Sansa glared. He wasn’t that stupid. “No. You set me up. You didn’t tell her anything, and I bet she didn’t tell you either. She doesn’t want to make up- you- I can’t-” She pulled her arm away from him, and walked further away, around the cars on the curb, to walk in the street. It felt good to have something between her and Joffrey.

 

“Come on.” Of course he was following her. “Come on, I didn’t know she’d be so cold. She’d always been so nice, I thought-”

 

_ You wanted me to look like an idiot.  _

 

“I don’t care what you thought.” Sansa snapped. “Now go away. I’m meeting someone.”

 

“Can’t you just take a moment?” Joffrey had moved in front of her, and Sansa stopped in her tracks. His eyes were bright, and excited looking. He’d been drinking. “I meant it, you know. I’ve been missing you.”

 

Sansa snorted. “Yeah right.” She crossed her arms over her chest, before remembering that he was supposed to look. He could look all he wanted, because that was all he could ever do.

 

And he was looking. His eyes were tracing their way up her legs, pausing at her breasts, and making their way up over her collarbone before reaching her eyes again. There was no thrill in it, but she let him look. “Of course I mean it. How couldn’t I? You look beautiful tonight.” He smiled, in a way that had used to thrill her. It was his perfect-boyfriend smile, the one he pulled out whenever he had gone too far, and wanted to pretend that the bruise on her wrist was not from him. Or whenever he tried to slide a hand under her skirt, or up the back of her shirt.

 

He stepped closer, and she let him do that to. His eyes were searching her face, and he smiled again. His hand came up to her cheek. “Maybe, I made a mistake. You were right, I shouldn’t have been driving after I had all that to drink.”

 

She could feel the breath on her face- he had always smelled like mint gum, and tonight the scent was mixed with that of beer. She was of a height with him, in her heels. He leaned forward.

 

She put a hand up, and he stopped before it hit his chest. He smiled at her again, thumb stroking along her cheek. “Sansa-”

 

“You did. Make a mistake.” She walked away, viciously grateful for the chilly breeze that took the warmth from his hand away from her cheek almost instantly. She walked and walked, all down the darkening street, and past the man at the gate, who looked up over his magazine for only a moment before ducking back down again.

 

Sitting on the curb, just past the gate, she removed her heels, and rubbed at her feet, fuming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if that wasn't as dramatic as you all expected- I think someone in the comments made references to Carrie. Not trying to disappoint, lol.


	22. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the hiatus my dudes. I have periods of time when I feel like a wet piece of cardboard, and want to do nothing, and periods of time when I feel pretty good, and want to do everything. Currently in the former. This makes writing consistently pretty difficult for me, even though it is something that I very much enjoy. I'm trying to work on being more active in the things I enjoy, even when I'm not feeling like doing them.

Sandor idled in the parking lot, looking at his hands. One of his nails had torn, and it was stinging, even with the bandage and ointment that Ed had made him put on it. He was early- he knew he was early, but there was no other place to be. Work had been done at four, and Sansa had said for him to meet her at seven. Maybe he shouldn’t have picked this place to sit and wait with his car. It smelled good. Too good. The greasy smell of oil hung in the air- he knew how much he had in the bank, and he’d got his card last week. He  _ could _ now, even if he shouldn’t, shouldn’t be thinking about how many chicken sandwiches and fries equaled the few dollars he’d decided would be for this weeks food.

 

_ Don’t think about it, don’t you fucking dare- _

 

He took a deep breath, pulling his phone out of his pocket. The pictures of Sansa were good enough to distract him from the tantalizing smells. He’d been looking at them for the better part of an hour, for the lack of anything else to do. All his homework was done, and he’d already stuffed all his clothes, blankets and shit into the trunk or under the seats. There was WiFi in the inside of the building, but that was only getting closer to the smells- and besides, he would stand out among all the clean people with their new clothes even more than his car stood out here in the lot.

 

Sandor squinted down at the pictures. At her smile, the way she had posed in that stupid dress.

 

He should have told her the other one. At least she looked like Sansa, in that picture. 

Scowling, he hovered his finger over the call button next to her name. He should just do it. He’d been fucking thinking about it for the last hour- he should just get the balls to do it. Call, and listen to her tell him that she’d changed her mind, that she didn’t need to meet him after all. She’d probably say sorry, sorry for dragging him into it and wasting his fucking time. She’d probably mean it too.

 

He shut the screen, watching it stutter to black, and then shoving it into his pocket. Placing both hands on the wheel, Sandor stared blankly ahead, drumming his fingers on the frayed vinyl. There wasn’t even anything to look at- it had seemed like such a good idea when he’d parked in this corner. But the bush in front of him was no distraction, not like watching the people might have been.

 

“Fuck.” 

 

He shoved a hand into his pocket, half rising off the seat to do so. The phone was slippery in his hand when he yanked it out- it took a few tries to unlock it, due to his sweaty fingers or the piece of shit phone he didn’t know. He didn’t hesitate before putting it to his ear this time.

 

She answered before he was ready- he had expected to wait while the phone rang.

 

“Hello? Sandor?”

 

“Yeah?” What. Shit, no. What was he doing? He’d called her. “I mean, yeah. It’s me.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I know you said seven, but-”

 

“You're here?” Sharply, so that he actually flinched.

 

“Uh- yeah.”

 

“Where? I don’t see you.”

 

“The- I’m at the McDonald's, it’s right near where you said.”

 

“Wait for me. I mean-” She took a long breath, rattling through his speaker. “I mean, I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks.”

 

“Yeah.” When it seemed as though she would say nothing else, Sandor ended the call.

 

So it had gone badly then. Not that that hadn’t been a possibility- he just hadn’t expected it, was all. Things were supposed to go right for girls like her.

 

It didn’t take long- she stood out, among all the parents herding their screaming brats with plastic pumpkins clutched in their hands. One of them, a sniveling girl in a poofy pink dress, looked up at her as she went by. Sansa didn’t seem to hesitate, stalking straight up to his car, and when he unlocked it with clumsy hands, she sat right down on the passenger seat, swinging her legs in front of her almost angrily. The dress was stretched tightly around her, just like it had been in the picture, her hair pulled up to the back of her head, to spin down in a log rope behind her. She looked at him for only a brief moment, offering a tight smile that he could not return before her eyes flicked down towards her knees again.

 

“Uh- where are your shoes?”

 

She looked up for the second time, and raised her right hand from her side, and he saw the heels she had dangling from them. “They hurt.”

 

“Oh.” He took a breath.  _ Here we go then. _ “Well?”

 

She looked over at him, and it was a little overwhelming to be sitting next to her, with the makeup ringing her eyes, the little gold earrings glinting in the afternoon light, and the length of her long, pale legs stretched out in front of her. She looked like she belonged in another world. He grimaced to himself, sitting up straight. “Go on then. Tell me what they did.”

 

Her eyes hardened a little, and he couldn’t help the smirk that flashed over his face. She looked good when she was angry.

 

“You were right, OK? Is that what you wanted to hear?” She slumped back in the seat, hand sliding down the side to recline it, and her bare feet coming up to rest on the dashboard. Sandor’s eyes stuttered down the length of her legs, under that short, short skirt, and came to rest on her dirty feet. He’d never seen so much of her before. “God, I feel so stupid.”

 

“So what happened? Wasn’t like you planned?”

 

He had been hoping for the mocking edge in his voice to harden her again, make her look at him with eyes so narrow that you could hardly see the blue, but his words only seemed to deflate her.

 

“No. Yes. I-” She grimaced, not looking at him, and running a hand through her hair, loosening the tie that held it back. “It was OK at first. Better than OK, actually.” She glanced over at him, a small smile on her face that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Do you ever have some idea in your head of how things  _ should _ go, and then they do, until they don’t?”

 

It made him think of transferring schools, and the strange half-formed thoughts of how things might be on the other side. “Fuck no.”

 

“I guess not.” She pulled the heels into her lap, and pulled her feet from the dash to thump to the ground. “It was good, when I first got there. Everything went like it was supposed to. Better, even, like I said. Margaery’s older brother was there, with some of his college friends, and he asked me to dance with them, and they let me have a drink. A real one.” A little color stained her cheeks as she continued, meeting his eyes defiantly, as though she expected him to laugh at her, but he didn’t. “And then I found them all, and they were all there. Joff, Margaery, and all the rest of them. Just like they were supposed to be. Except, that was where it went wrong. Joff just left me there, he didn’t say- say  _ anything _ , and none of the others wanted to make up, I guess he lied about that. So it was all for nothing.”

 

“Is that it?” If that was what had gotten her so pissed off, it was fucking pathetic. That a pack of stuck up bitches didn’t like her anymore, because she wasn’t stuck up enough for them.

 

“No.” She sighed, pushing her face into her hands. “Joff- what he wanted was all he ever wanted. Except he didn’t want to date me any more to get it. It was so stupid, to think- that I thought he cared about me, even just a little. It was stupid to go.”

 

A number of replies sprung to his lips, and it look real effort to quash them down. Of  _ course _ the blonde prick still wanted to fuck her, and was trying to soften her up for him. He had thought she’d seen that. If she had, she was an idiot for going to the stupid party.

 

The silence stretched on in the car for a while. Sandor put his hands back on the wheel, and looked out the windshield at the scrubby green bushes. The car to his right was a white van, the kind one of these rich moms would push her kids into. The one a few spaces to his left was smaller, sleeker, with a gangling shape inside hunched over a sandwich. Sansa hadn't even had to ask which car was his- one look and she had known.

 

“So- d’you want me to take you home now?” It was a stupid question to ask. She was close enough to walk, and she’d walked here instead of there, but at least it broke the silence that had grown between them.

 

Sansa sighed. “No. Would you- do you want to get some food? On me.”

 

Sandor hesitated.

 

“Come on. It’s the least I can do for dragging you out here. Thanks for coming, by the way.” The makeup on her face had smeared slightly, from where her hands had rubbed over it. “I really- it helps.”

 

He shrugged. “Sure.”

 

The car wheezed into life when he turned the key, and he winced at the noise. It had been doing that. When he pulled up to the speaker, and the crackly voice asked what they wanted, he just rolled the window down, and turned towards Sansa.

 

She just looked at him for a long moment, as though she didn’t know what he meant. But when the crackly voice asked again, she turned to address it, half rising out of her seat to do so. “Hi, yeah- I’d like two cheeseburgers, a large fry, and-” 

 

She glanced at him. Sandor shrugged. “I’ll eat whatever.”

 

“Make that two large fries then. And-” She turned to study the menu, brow wrinkling. With her attention so distracted, Sandor took the moment to look at her. She was wearing the fucking dress, the one that was so short she’d never get to wear it to school. Not that she’d want to- Joffrey might still be bothering her, but most of the other boys hand lost interest when they’d worked out that she wouldn’t suck them off in the bathroom between classes.

 

“A ten-piece of nuggets, two mocha frappes, and-” She tilted her head to the side seeming to think. She was much too close in the small confines of the car, half leaning over him to place the order. The long sweep of her hair had fallen over her shoulder, and was almost touching his chest. Sandor pressed back into the seat, trying not to look at her.

 

“-and I think that’s it.” The crackly voice monotoned the total, and Sandor blinked, looking over to where Sansa was settling back into her seat, buckling her seatbelt as though they were going to get on the highway or something.

 

“Hungry?”

 

She shrugged, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Maybe I am. So what?”

 

“So nothing.” He pulled around to the window, and sat there, watching Sansa dig around in the little red purse dangling from her wrist. He hastily took the card from her to give to the girl in the window before she could lean over him again. When he turned to hand the card to the cashier, he saw that it was the same bored girl with the big tits that he’d seen here before, except this time she actually looked at him. She blinked, flinching back from the card he was offering her as she took him in. Sandor clenched his teeth, staring at the fabric stretched tightly across her chest rather than at her face, though it held no real appeal for him anymore, and shoved the card at her until she took it. When she gave it back, eyes glancing to the side, he looked at it rather than at her. It was shiny and black, but no different than the one he had gotten, really. It was a relief when the girl gave them their food, and he hit the gas so quickly that Sansa gave a little shriek as he pulled around back into a parking spot. She shot him a quick glance as she took off her seatbelt, but didn’t say anything.

 

The bags crinkled as she opened them, and he let her, not knowing what she wanted for herself. He picked up one of the drinks she had gotten, and looked at it for a long moment. It rankled, somehow, to let her get him stuff like this. It was alright to let her give him stuff at school, that was different somehow. She’d  _ paid _ for this.

 

He blew a breath out through his nose, and grabbed one of the straws, stripping off the paper and shoving it roughly into the hole. It was fine. This was fine. It was like she’d said, he was doing her a favor, so now she was doing him one. The drink was cold, and so sweet that it was almost a milkshake, except that it wasn’t.

 

“Here-” Sansa offered him the bag, and he pulled food out, trying to distract himself from his hunger by watching her eat, and taking another pull from the sweet drink. He wanted this to last, it would be over too soon if he ate quickly, and fuck if he knew when he’d get stuff like this again.

 

“Did you know-” Sansa swallowed thickly, poised to shove more fries into her mouth. He watched her as he took a bite of his own burger. She wasn’t usually like this when she ate. She always seemed to take small, neat bites, as though she was trying to make even eating look as pretty as it could possibly be. “Did you know I actually wanted to- to look  _ good _ for that jerk?” She pushed the fries into her mouth.

 

His brow wrinkled. “Is that why you stopped eating lunch?”

 

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “Sort of.”

 

“That’s fucking stupid.” She looked over at him, the corners of her mouth turning down. He knew what he was supposed to do- she liked it when he bashed her ex boyfriend, but it  _ had _ been stupid. “You were  _ starving _ yourself for  _ him?” _

 

Why would she starve herself for anybody? It wasn’t like she was some fat girl who actually needed to.

 

“I wasn’t starving myself,” she said, loudly sucking up some of her drink, as though to emphasize the point. “And it wasn’t all for him. I just wanted to look good, that was all.”

 

“That was stupid.”

 

She scowled over at him. “Fine. Think whatever you want, I don’t care.” But he thought she was lying, at least a little. She turned sharply away from him, rummaging through the bags.

 

“I mean- I just-” he leaned back on the seat watching her. “You didn’t  _ need _ to.”

 

“I guess not. But- never mind.” Sansa was still frowning when she looked over at him. She looked at him for so long that he shifted in his seat, wishing, for once, that she would look away. “I wanted to ask you. I didn’t- don’t want to go home, not yet. Do you want to go somewhere?”

 

They were somewhere. “Where?”

 

“I don’t know. Anywhere.” She made a face. “If I go home now, Mum will ask if I’m feeling OK, because she knows I usually out late when I go out. And I can’t lie to her. You know?”

 

“I guess.” But he didn’t, really. “Do you want-” He frowned, trying to think. None of his usual haunts seemed right to take her to, or smart even, taking her on his favorite streets in that dress. What did a girl like her do for fun anyway?

 

“Do you want to see a movie or something?” 

 

He blinked, suddenly remembering. “Yeah- yeah, sure. There’s this place I know, they were having a thing today. Double features of Halloween movies.” When she blanched, he just looked at her. “What? It was your idea.”

 

“No- I mean, yes, that’s fine.”

 

Sandor wolfed down the rest of his food, staring at the small clock on the dashboard. If they hurried- what time had the sign said?

 

Sansa tensed as he put the car into motion, and he could see her flinch every time he rounded a corner. Finally, at a stop sign a few streets away, he turned to face her. “What?”

 

“Can you just-” her hands were clenched tightly on the sides of her seat. “Can you slow down some?”

 

He wasn’t even going  _ fast _ yet. “No.” When she just stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “You’ll be fine, princess.” He pulled out just as the asshole behind him started to honk.

 

Sansa was quiet the rest of the way there, and Sandor didn’t talk to her either. Just drove through the streets towards the cinema. The lot was crowded when he pulled in. It hadn’t been before- they'd had the same deal for last week too, a double feature for a dollar. It was so cheap that he’d actually done it, even if he did more sleeping than watching the movies. It had been quiet enough then. The only other people there were a couple of scrawny kids throwing popcorn at the screen. But they’d sat all the way towards the front, and he’d been right in that back, so that was fine. It was better than sleeping in the park again, anyway.

 

“Where are we?” He’d been unbuckling his seatbelt, slapping the crumbs off his jeans, when he looked over at her. She had made no move to unbuckle herself.

 

“At the movies.” He’d thought that much was obvious.

 

“I mean, yeah, but  _ where _ are we?”

 

“It’s-” He opened the door, leaning out to squint at the street sign. “Baelor Avenue.”

 

“Oh.” She moved then, unbuckling her seatbelt and standing up out of the car, reaching down to smooth her skirt from where it had risen even higher on her thighs. He let himself watch for a moment, because from where she was standing she couldn’t see him where he sat in the car. Then, he got out himself.

 

“What? Not high class enough?” It was a shitty little theater, but it was cheap and damned if she was gonna pay for something  _ else  _ for him too.

 

“No, not that. Just something someone said to me once.”

 

“What?” They were walking towards the building, and when a group of younger boys passed, laughing at something or other, she drifted closer to him.

 

“Just that if I go into lower district, I shouldn’t go too far in. And I shouldn’t go alone.”

 

That wasn’t exactly wrong, for a girl like her, who couldn’t even stand up to prep school boys. “Here.” He unzipped his sweatshirt, pushing it at her. It was a new one, from the thrift store. There had been no coats that fit, but this one was fine.

 

“Oh- thanks. I should have been more careful.” She was grimacing down at her dress, where a smear of ketchup on her lap showed against the bright white of the dress.

 

He didn’t bother to correct her. The sweatshirt did nothing to cover the long length of her legs, but it at least made her look more like she belonged. Not than anyone was likely to mess with her here, when she was with him. They were close enough to his street that some of the people might know his face or his reputation, but even if they didn’t, his size was usually enough to make people leave him alone these days, if his scars didn’t.

 

Without the sweatshirt, the air was cool on his bare arms, past where the cotton sleeves of his shirt fell, but that was alright. It wasn’t cold enough for it to really matter.

 

The lobby wasn’t that crowded when they came in, and Sandor glanced at the clock- it would have just started. Sansa pulled at his arm when he bought their tickets, protesting, but he ignored her. It was two fucking dollars, he could manage  _ that _ much.

 

“I could’ve got them,” she said, as he gave their tickets to the bored looking attendant. The boy, pimple-faced, even though he looked to be a few years older than Sandor, half jumped as he saw him, eyes sliding over the scars as to took the tickets. When he tore them and gave them back, he addressed the scars as he directed them to their theater. Sandor strode past him, Sansa hurrying to keep up, pulling the sweatshirt further around her as they entered the dark room. 

 

The seats were not as full as they probably would be later in the night, and that was good. The less people, the better. It was easy to find a couple of seats together. The commercials were loud and bright, and he did his best to ignore them. He almost jumped when Sansa leaned over, loudly talking in his ear.

 

“Thanks! For taking me here.” 

 

When he turned to look at her, she was smiling, one elbow propped on her armrest, the too-long sleeve bunched over hand.

 

“Sure. If you couldn’t have what you wanted, a couple of shitty horror movies are the next best thing right?”

 

Her smile fell away at that. “It was stupid to go. To the party, I mean. But I’m glad I did. I’m done with them now. Screw them all, right?” She tossed her head a little, and reached up to pull the tie out of her hair, running her hands through it as it fell around her shoulders.

 

He snorted. “It’s fuck them all.”

 

“Fine. Fuck them all then.” She glanced around, as though someone would hear her in the crowded movie theater, or care if they did.

 

“I thought you didn’t want to do that.”

 

She glared at him, face illuminated by the flickering light from the screen. “Shut up.”

 

He snorted, turning back to watch the ad playing. A soft-faced redhead in a yellow dress was laughing on the screen, her face caressed by some man. When the laughter turned into a soft, Sandor groaned, turning his attention away.

 

“Hey.” He looked over at her, to see her looking at him, lip caught between her teeth. The lipstick she had worn was smudged now. “I kind of have a question- don’t get mad.”

 

He blinked. “What?”

 

She turned in her seat to face him more fully. “Is it always like that? Like with the ticket guy?”

 

He just looked at her, while the girl with the red hair finished her song. Sansa ducked her head for a moment, but when she brought it up again, her eyes met his own steadily. “You should know.”

 

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. He looked away when she didn't, as the screen went dark. Her hand came down on his own, soft and small overtop of it. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” She left it there for a moment, as the movie started, before she pulled away.

 

This was a good movie for watching now, and old favorite. He’d actually started to get lost in it, one he’d seen more times than he could count as a kid, when Sansa jumped violently next to him. He looked over at her. Hey eyes were wide, and as the gore on the screen increased, she shrunk back into her seat.

 

“What?”

 

When she turned to look at him, her eyes were wide. She just shook her head.

 

“You’ve never seen-” She shook her head again. He scoffed, and looked back at the screen. Nightmare on Elm Street had been a favorite of his, even after he’d been burned. It had come on every year around Halloween, and he had watched it, back when Dad had been halfway decent to be in same room with. Even had a tape of it at some point, before Gregor had stepped on it. He’d always thought Gregor had meant to make all of him like that, like how his face was, except that he wouldn’t have been alive to feel it. If it had happened that way, if Dad hadn’t walked in just then- it was good to think he could have come back to make his life hell.

 

The movie continued, and he ignored Sansa in the seat next to him. She should have said she didn’t like this shit. It wasn’t even that bad- hadn’t ever scared him, the first time he’d seen it.

 

“You know this is fake, right?” The blood was spreading over the ceiling, and he watched it’s flow.

 

“Shut  _ up _ .”

 

Halfway through, she grabbed him by the arm, and didn’t let go.

 

The next movie was better, and it was worse. It was better because she actually watched it, laughing at the makeup and bad effects along with the rest of the theater. It was worse because it was shit movie, meant to be funny instead of scary, and because she didn’t take his arm this time.

 

“This was nice.”

 

He snorted. “Yeah? Come on, you hated that first movie.” They were out in the parking lot, walking through the badly lit lot towards his car.

 

“Well- yeah. But it wasn’t  _ that _ bad. But I mean, I haven't been out with a friend in ages.”

 

“Sure.” The worst part of it all had been during the last movie. The movie as a whole had been pretty stupid. But there had been a part, when the kid in the movie had been about to fuck the blond girl, when Sansa had gotten quiet. He’d suddenly been aware, more than ever, of the darkness around them, and of the her sitting next to him. It had been a bitter feeling, because maybe if he’d been someone else, with money and a fancy car and a pretty face, this might have meant something different.

 

But he didn’t have any of those things, and the best he could ever have was to think about her when he jerked off.

 

“We should do it again, sometime.” She had slipped into her seat, slipping her bare feet out of her heels, little purse resting on her lap. She was still wearing the sweatshirt.

 

“Yeah. Sure.” He ducked into the car, and slammed the door shut.


	23. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short chapter. Will be writing a follow up chapter in the next few days, which will be more substantial.

He’d been waiting for him. Sandor should have known, should have guessed. Had paused just outside the shed doors, absently kicking a scrap of metal to the side. Some part of him had  _ known _ then, but it still hadn’t been enough.

 

The first blow had come as he’d been stepping inside, before his eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Sandor reeled back, stumbling into the half-closed door, one arm up over his face. The other groped behind him for the edge of the door, the edge that he could feel digging into his back.

 

_ Come on, come on- _

 

But then another blow came, and another, raining down hard and fast. No words were spoken, and through the pounding in his ears, he’d heard only the harsh panting breaths, like an animal. He couldn’t remember falling, but then, it always ended this way. Curled up on the floor, arms over his head, teeth gritted and waiting for it to stop.

 

When it did, the pounding of blood in his head had grown so loud and painful that he could no longer hear the animal-breaths. Sandor made no move to uncurl, to expose the rest of him. That would only make it longer.

 

When another blow, harder this time, crashed into his side, he gritted his teeth. He wouldn’t, Gregor couldn’t make him. An iron taste washed through his mouth, and he realized that he had bitten his cheek. Hard. It was a small pain compared to the steady kicks crashing into his ribs, that was forcing the air from his lungs and making each following breath more and more painful, but it helped somehow.

 

At last, the blows slowed. Movement came, though he sensed it rather than heard it. Gregor’s boot hit him again, a glancing blow to his thigh, though it seemed almost an afterthought. Rough hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, and Sandor let them. There was nothing in there. He knew better than that.

 

Finally, the hands withdrew. There was a stinging cuff to his exposed ear, and then silence.

 

Seconds ticked by, and then minutes. The sounds of his own breathing grew more regular to his ears. When Sandor finally sat up, blinking the blood from his eye, he was alone.

 

Ignoring the screaming pain in his ribs, he pushed himself to his feet, breath hissing out between his teeth. The door still stood open where his brother had left it, and he pulled it shut, fumbling in the dark for the padlock and chain. When his fumbling fingers found them, he clumsily locked the door, wrapping the chain through the handle twice.

 

In the darkness, he turned towards the chair. As he made his way towards where he remembered it being, his shin struck something hard, and he stumbled, one knee hitting the dirt. His reaching hand found the familiar shape of the lantern, and he coaxed it on. The sparsely padded lawn chair came into view, and he sat down on it.

 

His fingers came up to feel at the tenderness above his eye, and came away sticky.

 

“Fuck.”

 

He whispered the word, and it sounded pathetic in the dimly lit little shack. Small. Swallowing hard, he lay gingerly on the reclined chair. He wanted to scream the word, shout it until his lungs burst and his throat was bloody inside.

 

He dragged his teeth over the raw patch inside his mouth. It didn’t help much anymore.

 

He clenched his fists. One knuckle had been split open, even though he hadn’t hit him. You didn’t hit Gregor, not unless you felt like being hit back, twice as hard. And if you hit him, he would go at you in earnest, not just fucking around. He’d had to relearn that lesson last year.

 

A gun. That would be what would do for him. A big fucking gun, like they gave guys who joined the army. His head would be like a watermelon that had gone too ripe, splitting apart in red and white. Sandor smiled at the tin ceiling. It would only when he felt like it. If he had a gun like that, he wouldn’t start with the head. No. He would start lower.

 

Sandor lay there on the chair that was his bed, and fixed his eyes on a part of the ceiling. He shouldn’t have come back. That had been stupid. It had worked last night, after the movie, but that had been luck. Probably nobody had seen him. It had been fucking stupid to think that he’d be that lucky twice.

 

Stretching was a quiet agony, but he did it anyway. He didn’t think anything was cracked. Only bruised up, and hurting like hell.

 

Shit. He had school tomorrow. Nobody at his old school gave a shit if you came in all bruised, but fancy schools with donors and collage applications and the stupid counselor who kept trying to talk to him probably would.

 

And he couldn’t  _ not _ go. Hotah had been pretty fucking clear that he expected damn near perfect attendance. And besides. If he didn’t go, there would be no lunch.

 

Draping one arm over his face, Sandor laboriously pulled the blankets he still had stored here over him. He’d left the rest in the car, and it wasn’t enough, but it was better than nothing.

 

Maybe he should just leave. Give the whole school thing up as a stupid mistake, and get his own place. Get another job, maybe see if Ed could use him for landscaping or some shit like that.

 

Dad wouldn’t be happy though. Or maybe he would be now. He didn’t want Sandor in the house unless he paid like Gregor did, but if he was out of the house, the old shit couldn’t get any money for keeping him. He hadn’t seemed to care, though. Maybe he figured if nobody said anything, he could go on getting support for him, no matter if Sandor lived there or not.

 

Maybe he should just leave. But the thought of it soured his mouth somewhat. He’d seen what happened to the kids who kept living around here. They went and sold drugs, or got arrested, usually did all that while fucking some girl too stupid to get the morning after pill. And the ones who didn’t- they weren’t so bad off, maybe. They worked in the bars or in the supermarkets up here, where it was a bit nicer. They got shitty apartments and worked their shitty jobs, and they never left. Maybe they moved to the more habitable parts of Fleabottom instead of staying in Lower, but they never really left.

 

They thought they were better than him, those guys. Thought that they were so fucking superior because they had a job and an apartment and a girl, when not a one of them had the balls to do what  _ he _ did.

 

His phone chimed, somewhere around his left arsecheek, and he shoved a hand down his pants to get at it. At least Gregor hadn’t felt like fishing  _ that _ out. At least he’d thought to put it there before coming home. At least he hadn’t been so fucking stupid that he’d lost his phone. 

 

It was from Sansa, and he pushed the phone away with a grimace. He didn’t want to deal with her shit now.


	24. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry! That wasn't a few days! Hopefully the longer chapter will help make up for my procrastination. Also, I swear at some point I need to write out school schedules for the mains. I keep looking back at past chapters to make sure I'm not contradicting myself. With 156 pages and counting, it's not as quick and easy as it used to be.
> 
> Actually meant to continue this for a few more pages, but this felt like a good natural stopping point. Also, I do like perspective hopping between them. Makes things more interesting.

“You look ridiculous.”

 

Arya grinned at Bran, and shook her head like a small, particularly fluffy dog. “I look awesome.”

 

Mum hummed under her breath, spooning eggs onto Arya’s plate. Her hair was in a lopsided braid, and she was wearing an old pair of jeans and a sweater rather than her usual work clothes. She had the day off, and would be driving Sansa and Arya to school, before taking Bran to the dentist. She said nothing about Arya’s new hair. Sansa had seen the look in her eye when Arya had arrived home last night, grinning from ear to ear, but Dad had put a hand over hers, and she had said nothing. Sansa understood. You had to pick your battles with Arya, or risk losing them all.

 

“Sansa likes it. Right Sansa?” 

 

Swallowing her mouthful of toast, Sansa turned to face her sister. Arya was watching her, smirking from under her mop of newly bleached hair. She was waiting, like she knew what Sansa was going to say.

 

Sansa shrugged. “It’s not for me. But I think it suits you.”

 

Arya’s eyes widened momentarily, and she opened her mouth, but then slapped it closed again. Turning to face Bran, her mouth smirking once more, she fluffed her hair with a hand. “ _ See? _ ”

 

Bran looked at Sansa, then back at Arya. Finally, he shrugged, turning his gaze back down to his cereal. “I guess it’s not so bad.” Picking up his bowl, he began to slurp the milk out of it. Sansa grimaced at the noise. Putting the bowl back down, he surveyed Arya again. “You know? I think you actually kinda look like Power Girl.”

 

Arya wrinkled her nose. “Who?”

 

“Super hero.”

 

“Oh. That’s OK then.”

 

Rickon came down into the kitchen, fully dressed, shoes in his hand and yawning, rubbing his free fist over his eyes. Mum called over to him from the counter, where she was eating. “Hurry up, your brother and sisters are ready. We’re leaving in just a minute.”

 

“Don’t know why you can't drop me off too.” Rickon was looking interestedly at Arya. He’d not seen her last night, but made no comment. Even he, at seven, was not surprised.

 

“Because I have to take Bran to his appointment, you know that Rickon.” Mum moved around the counter, picking up plates and bowls, and admonishing Rickon to put on his shoes, and to be good for Mrs. Poole.

 

Arya rose to her feet, pulling her bag over her shoulder. She and Sansa trooped out to the car, leaving Bran behind as he reached for his crutches.

 

“I was gonna do blue, you know.”

 

“Really?” Sansa turned, to look critically at Arya. “It’d look good on you.”

 

“Yeah.” Arya’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Lommy said the school would suspend me till it was a ‘natural color’.”

 

Sansa nodded distractedly. She fiddled with her phone for a moment, before putting it down. Sandor hadn’t been answering her texts at all this weekend, he would hardly start now. And after they’d had such a nice time too. 

 

At least,  _ she’d _ had a nice time. 

 

But whatever. She’d see him in homeroom anyway. He was probably just in one of his moods. Shutting the car door behind her, she turned to talk to Arya. “So you just let that boy- that Hot Pie- you just  _ let _ him put  _ bleach _ in your hair?” It was chilly in the car, and Sansa pulled off her headband to allow her own tresses to drape over her ears.

 

Arya nodded. “He was careful. And it was supposed to be for hair, this is what I wanted. ‘Cause it’s technically blonde, see? And if the school freaks out, I can just do another color on top.”

 

She eyed Sansa speculatively, but sat back once Mother came out, Bran clattering in front of her, and Rickon kicking at the gravel drive as he slumped his way to the car.

  
  


\-------

  
  


She was out of breath when she hurried into the classroom, sure the bell would ring any moment. Her eyes went to the seat by the window, but Sandor wasn’t there.

 

Slipping into her own seat, she glanced around the room. Not that she expected him to be sitting anywhere else; not when he didn’t talk to anybody but her. Addam was trying to catch her eye, but she resolutely looked right on past him.

 

_ Please let Sandor be in today. _ Addam never bothered Sansa when she was with Sandor. She thought he might be a bit scared of him, actually.

 

Sandor came in when the bell rang, and Sansa looked up, ready to smile at him, and make him forget that he was ignoring her. But she gasped instead, eyes on his face.

 

Sandor walked hurriedly to his seat, letting his backpack fall to the floor with a thump. Sansa stared at the back of his head for a moment, mouth open. She jumped when Mrs. Martin moved to the front of the class, loudly instructing them to take out their homework. Glancing around the room, Sansa saw some of the other students looking their way, uncomfortable half smiles on some faces and blatant shock on some others as they looked at one another. But they took their homework out, the stares turning into sideways glances.

 

Sansa did not reach into her bag. Nor did Sandor. Biting her lip, she hesitantly tapped his shoulder. He didn’t move.

 

“Hey- are you OK?” She spoke softly, aware of the other student’s interest.

 

“M’fine.” He still didn’t turn. Martin was telling them all to take out their books, to swap homework and grade each other's answers.

 

Except, he  _ wasn’t _ fine. His eye was all dark and swollen, and it had looked like there were more bruises spreading over his cheek. It was hard to tell, with the hair he had hanging in his face.

 

Leaning forward, she laid a hand on his arm, though she hastily removed it when he seemed to flinch away from her. “Sandor-”

 

But someone walked up to their desks, and Sansa leaned back into her own space, turning to see who had come over. It was Mrs. Martin, frowning down at them over her glasses. She wasn’t paying any attention to Sansa.

 

“A moment, Sandor?”

 

He seemed to be trying to shrink in on himself, hunching over in his desk, but it didn’t look as though it was working very well. “I’m fine. I don’t need to go see the nurse.”

 

“That’s not what I asked, Mr. Clegane.” The firmness in her voice left no room for anything other than obedience. Sansa watched Sandor rise to his feet, and exit the room behind Martin. Without his face as a distraction, she could see how stiffly he was holding himself. Not like he was angry, more like he was hurting and trying not to make it worse. Sort of like Mum had after she had tried going to the gym for the month after Christmas. 

 

A noxious bubble of worry was growing in her stomach, and she kept her eyes trained on the doorway. When the teacher came back, Sandor was not with her.

  
  


\--------

  
  


It took everything that she had to go and buy lunch before heading to the library. What if he wasn’t there? What if he’d gone home, and she’d missed him?

 

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she pushed her way through the glass doors. Miss Freesia was not behind her round wooden desk as she usually was, and Sansa felt safe to hurry towards their study room at a pace closer to a jog than a trot. She almost crashed into the librarian coming around the corner, and gasped, stepping hastily back. She almost hid the bottle of iced tea in her hand behind her, but thought better of it.

 

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

 

But Miss Freesia wasn’t paying any attention to the drink. After her initial gasp at Sansa’s abrupt approach, she looked up, smoothing the loose strands of hair behind her ears. She was a small woman, and had to look slightly up towards Sansa.

 

“No problem, Sansa.” Something about the way that she spoke, and the hand she had pressed to the side of her hair made her seem young, almost as though she could be going to school here too. She couldn’t be all that old.

 

Sansa shuffled to the side, allowing the librarian to pass her, heading back towards her post. Sansa turned back towards the study rooms, and quickly cleared the row of shelves she had been walking along. Glancing back, with her hand on the doorknob, she saw the woman looking at her. It was a bit too far to tell for sure, but Sansa thought she looked worried.

 

Sandor looked up at her when the door opened, but didn’t greet her when she dropped her bag on the table and pulled up a chair next to him.

 

“Hey.” 

 

He made a slight noise, halfway between a sigh and a grunt. She waited, but he did not elaborate. Just bent his head over his burger. Pulling her food out of her bag, Sansa arrayed it all in front of her, the tupperwares from home and the wax-papered school lunch.

 

“I’ve got enough for both of us.”

 

“I have plenty.”

 

Sansa shrugged, though he still wasn’t looking up at her. “I’ve got too much.” She snapped the container open, and spooned some of the chicken salad, using the lid as a makeshift plate. He didn’t push it away when she put it in front of him. He didn’t thank her, although that was nothing unusual.

 

For a few moments, they ate. Sansa winced at the loudness of her own chewing in the resulting silence. When she glanced over again, he’d finally sat up, pushing the curtain of lank hair away from his face, allowing her first unimpeded view of him. He drank his milk, ignoring her eyes on him.

 

Finally, she swallowed, glancing around although they were alone in the room. “What  _ happened _ to you?”

 

He crunched the milk carton in his fist when he was through. “What’s it look like?”

 

“Like- like you got beat up!”

 

He sneered at her, lips pulling back in a not-smile. “Then I guess that’s what fucking happened, isn’t it?” He reached over, and took the bottle of iced tea from her hand. She blinked, watching him drink it, his eyes fixed on her.

 

“Stop it. You have to  _ tell  _ me-”

 

“I don’t  _ have _ to do anything,” he said, slapping the bottle to the table with a thunk. “And maybe  _ you _ should mind your own business.”

 

“But-” She struggled for the words, but he already  _ knew _ . He was just making himself stupid on purpose. “Sandor come  _ on _ ! We’re supposed to be friends.”

 

“Didn’t know being friends meant I had to tell you every bloody thing in my life.”

 

“It does when shit like this happens! Was it this weekend?”

 

The condescending look he shot her was a pale imitation of his usual glares, though he made another face at her as though to make up for it.

 

Sitting back in her chair she pushed her hair behind her ears with both hands, food forgotten. “Don’t just- you have to tell me! Was it from school? The kids from school?” She tried to think about anybody who might try and beat him up like that, but he really didn’t talk to  _ anybody. _ “Or your old school? Someone who didn’t like you?”

 

He’d gone back to his food. Sansa pulled it away from him, and he whirled on her. “Can’t you just leave it alone?”

 

“No! You have to tell me! Friends tell.” She swallowed, and lowered her voice, conscious of Miss Freesia out in the library. “Look, did you go to the nurse? I can go with you. And the guidance counselor, she can help, she’ll-”

 

“ _ She _ won’t do shit, none of them will. Not the nurse, or any of them.”

 

“They will, they can if you just tell them-”

 

“They won’t, because I won’t tell them anything. And you won’t either,” he snapped, cutting her off mid sentence.

 

“Me? How could I tell them anything when  _ you  _ won’t tell me?”

 

He snorted. “Good.”

 

Stamping her foot on the floor, Sansa tugged the sandwich further away from him when he reached for it. “Sandor Clegane, you tell me or- or I’ll tell my dad.”

 

He actually laughed at that, and grabbed her wrist to take his food back. For all that he hadn’t wanted it to begin with, it was disappearing quickly.

 

“So?”

 

Sansa flushed. But she was right. She  _ was _ . “So he’s the Chief of police in King’s Landing.”

 

When he looked up, his mouth half full, she knew he’d understood. Swallowing roughly, he reached over and grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into the meat of it, and she started, more with surprise than hurt. He usually tried not to touch her. “You can’t tell him.”

 

Sansa winced, pushing at his hand. “Sandor-”

 

“Say you won’t tell him.” His face had come close to hers, and she blinked at his proximity. 

 

“I won’t tell him, not if you tell me.” She shoved harder at his hand. “Let go, you’re hurting me.” When he let her go, she rubbed at her arm, looking at the fading white marks.

 

“Promise you won’t tell him.”

 

“You have to tell me first.” He was still right  _ there _ , far enough in her space to make her draw back from him.

 

“Promise-”

 

“Alright, I promise. As soon as you tell me.”

 

Finally, he withdrew. He looked down at the remnants of the food in front of him, but did not reach for it. His face looked paler than usual, his darkly puffy eye standing out all the more starkly.

 

Sansa swallowed. “Where did Martin take you?”

 

“Fucking guidance counselor. Fat piece of shit.” He scowled down at his hands.

 

Sansa hesitantly scooted her chair closer. “She seemed OK to me.” She’d only met Mrs. Stokeworth once, when she’d had to sit down with her for ten minutes when she’d transferred here.

 

“Yeah. She would to  _ you. _ ”

 

“So?” Sansa pushed the sandwich she had gotten towards Sandor. It would be too dry to eat, now that Sandor had drank all her tea. For all that this was supposed to be the best school in King’s Landing, the food never really held up to that.

 

“So what?” He pitched his voice higher, mocking her, and she scowled at him in turn.

 

“You don’t have to be so mean.”

 

He didn’t answer, but at least he didn’t start mimicking her again.

 

She flipped her hair around two fingers, heart beating hard. “So who was it?”

 

He looked back at her then, and she tried to see what his eyes might be telling her, but all her eyes kept straying to the darkness of the bruises.

 

“Later.”

 

“But-”

 

“I said later!” And he scowled so ferociously that she closed her mouth again. But she jabbed her spoon in his direction before stabbing it back into the food, so that he knew she would hold him to that.

 

They finished quickly and in silence. When they made their way out past the lines of shelves and through the glass doors into the busy hallway, Sandor ducked his head low, avoiding Miss Freesia when she tried to catch his eye. When they had safely merged into the crowded hallway, Sansa sidled closer to him. Nobody else approached; both Sandor’s visage and his scowl ensured a good-sized bubble of space around them.

 

“You said later. When?”

 

“After school, like I said.”

 

He hadn’t said. B ut Sansa nodded anyway. Then she frowned, hurrying to keep up with him. They would reach the gym soon, and she couldn’t follow him in there. “But  _ when?  _ We don’t have any other classes together.” 

 

“I’ll drive you home, I guess.” He shot her a glare, as though she was making him suggest it.

 

She stuck her chin in the air. “Sure. That’d be nice, thanks.” He snorted, and began to walk deliberately towards a small knot of freshman to one side of the hallway. Their talk petered out with their smiles, and Sansa frowned when they scattered. “Do you always have to-”

 

But a hand brushed her arm, and she spun around, ready to face Nick or Patton, or whoever else had decided to try and bother her again.

 

What she did not expect was to find herself face to face with Margaery, looking as polished and put together as ever in the hallway rush.

 

“Sansa.”

 

Sansa was staring. But what did you say? What  _ could  _ she say?

 

“Do you have a moment?” The other girl was looking unusually sober, absent her usual smile. Sansa looked back over her shoulder, just as Sandor noticed she was no longer beside him. When he saw Margie, he seemed to gather himself up, chest swelling outward. He walked back towards them slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. Margaery was looking at him, her lips pressing together. She turned back to Sansa. “Do you have a moment?”  _ Alone, _ her studious avoidance of looking towards Sandor said. He had reached them, and leaned against the wall beside Sansa. At least he was on her side in this.

 

“Fine.” But Sansa didn’t move. And  _ wouldn’t. _ If Margie wanted to talk, she could go right ahead and do it right here. She crossed her arms over her chest too, beneath her breasts, and stuck her chin in the air again.

 

Margaery looked towards the ground for a moment, and Sansa took in the little gold hoops in her ears, and the faint dusting of rosy powder on her eyelids. When she looked up again, her mouth was twisted to the side, as though she had tasted something sour.

 

“You talked to Joffrey after the party.”

 

Sandor snickered an ugly sounding laugh above them, and Margaery looked up at him, the annoyance written plain on her face. But she did not ask him to leave. Likely, she knew what his answer would be.

 

“So what if I did?” 

 

_ She’ll never have your boobs…  _

 

Sansa stood up straighter, and dropped her arms to her sides, thrusting her chest out. “So what if I talked to him? I can talk to who I like.” Margaery wasn’t looking, but she thought Sandor was. Or maybe she wanted him to. She didn’t look up to check.

 

“So-” Margaery huffed out a breath. “So don’t make me say it.”

 

Sansa felt her brow wrinkle, but straightened her spine. Margie had come up to  _ her _ , and she wouldn’t run away. She wouldn’t. Sandor would laugh at her if she did. So she gathered herself, planted a hand on her hip, and raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know what you mean, Margie.”

 

She had meant to sound lofty and aloof, and maybe it had worked because Margaery actually flinched. But the other girl had never been one to back down, and she did not.

 

“I didn't do it to you. I wouldn’t have done it to anyone. We were friends, you know. And maybe we’re not now, but I wouldn’t do it to  _ you. _ ” Margaery’s voice had become a furious whisper, and  Sansa had to strain her ears to catch what she was saying. Sandor had actually edged closer. Sansa wasn’t all that sure that he had caught any of it.

 

“I didn’t-” She opened her mouth and closed it again, wrinkling her nose as the implications of Margaery’s words hit her.

 

“ _ Didn't  _ you?” Margaery looked more unhappy than vindictive, smoothing her hair behind her ears, and shooting looks around them, as though anyone could hear them over the increasingly breathless voices rushing about them. The warning bell rang, and Sandor turned to look at the entrance to the gym. Sansa shot him a look, and he shrugged. Meadows didn’t care if you were a few minutes late.

 

Sansa turned back to face Margaery, gnawing at her lower lip. Part of her wanted to just turn and leave, and let her think whatever she wanted. But a hot feeling was rising in her, and after a moment she leaned in close to the other girl, close enough to smell her perfume.

 

“You should know. You should know I didn't. You should know, because we were friends, weren't we?” She felt her voice rise, twisting into a sarcastic lilt that she had never heard from herself before. “I thought we were, anyway. I  _ thought  _ I liked you. I thought you were  _ nice. _ But- but you turned out to be such a  _ bitch _ that you told lies about me to the whole  _ school _ , and got my boyfriend to break up with me-”

 

“I never!” Margaery’s voice had lifted too, as the color rose in your cheeks. “I never told any lies!”

 

“But you let them, didn’t you? You knew they were lies, any you let people think that I- that they-” Sansa was sputtering in her rage, and sucked in a big breath of air. The final bell had rung, and the hallway was empty, but the small crowd of students in the entrance way of the nearby gym were gawking at them. “You’d deserve it! You’d deserve it if he cheated on you with a hundred girls!”

 

Margaery’s mouth fell open, and Sansa heard a few shocked laughs coming from the kids watching them, joining the bark of Sandor’s laughter behind her. Margaery’s eyes shone as though she were about to cry, although no tears fell. Without a word, she turned away, tossing her hair over one shoulder.

 

But Sansa wasn’t through yet. It felt too good for her to be.

 

With a lunge, she caught Margaery’s arm, and the other girl spun to face her, one hand raising as though to slap Sansa, although it dropped to her side when Sansa released her arm.

 

“I don’t want him. I’ll never want him, because he’s trash. But he doesn’t want you either, see?” Sansa groped in her bag, half expecting for Margie to leave, but she didn’t. “All he wanted was- he- and he didn’t get it from me, and I bet you won’t either, so he’s trying again.” Her fumbling fingers had found the texts, and she pushed the phone under Margaery’s nose.

 

She could tell when they had been read, because Margie’s face went as blank and expressionless as she ever had. It was a more abrupt departure from her usual cheer than the anger had been. Sansa pocketed the phone, aware that her hand was trembling.

 

“So you can’t say- don’t you think- he’s a prick. He’s a prick, a  _ prick, _ and you’re the idiot that picked him.” Sansa nodded shortly, casting her eyes over the watching students, savagely glad that they were there. She would have left, stomping into her classroom late, except for the blond figure that was wending its way out of the group by the gym.

 

Sansa cast an accusatory look towards Sandor, who was looking as cheerful as she had seen him all day. He’d never said Joffrey was in his Gym class. He just shrugged, shot her a painful looking grin, and began to make his way towards the gym.

 

Joff’s eyes were on her pocket, where she had just stashed her phone, and Sansa felt herself shrink back. She wished Sandor had not chosen that moment to make his exit. Joffrey could get so  _ angry. _

 

“Hey babe.” Joffrey was watching Sansa with narrowed eyes as he fell in beside Margaery, throwing an arm around her shoulders. He was already dressed in a pair of bright red basketball shorts, his black t-shirt contrasting with the paleness of his skin.

 

Sansa turned away, clutching at the strap of her bag with both hands. The heady rush of the confrontation was fading, and everything she had said, and said so  _ loudly _ was starting to feel like a very bad idea.

 

“No, Sansa, wait.” Maergary’s voice was so crisp, so loud in the nearly empty hall, that Sansa actually turned. Margie had stepped away from Joff’s embrace, and stood smoothing her hair back over her shoulders. Her narrowed eyes swept across the gathered students still watching, although Sansa could hear Mr. Meadows shouting for them all to  _ hurry up, and stop dawdling. _

 

Margaery shot a look towards Sansa that wasn’t exactly friendly, but was nothing to the glare she directed at Joffrey. “It hasn’t been fun, with you. Not like I thought it would be. And I think that  _ it- _ ” She clicked her tongue dramatically over the word, “-is over.”

 

Joffrey blinked at her. For a long moment, the look of derision he had been aiming at Sansa seemed to have frozen on his face. Sansa tried frantically to catch Sandor’s eye- he had stopped amongst the other students to watch, and for once no one was taking much notice of him.

 

“What-” Joff sputtered, and looked back over his shoulder at all the faces looking at them. Even Mr. Meadows had just arrived, blinking at the scene in the hallway. When he saw Sandor, his gaze seemed to darken. “You can’t-”

 

“I can.” Margaery’s smile could have been chipped out of ice. “I need a man who knows how to treat a lady.” She looked over Joffrey’s shoulder, her eye catching on Sandor as well. “I’ll wager anybody could do better than you.” Her voice dripped with cloying sweetness, and her smile widened as Joff’s face reddened, his mouth opening in a silent snarl. Her eyes flickered back to Sansa, and she felt a slight shock go through her as Margie addressed her. “You’ll have to introduce me to your new friends, Sansa.”

 

It was too much.

 

Joffrey took two long steps, and he snatched her by the upper arms, shaking so hard that her head snapped back onto her neck, her hands flailing at the air for some purchase. He was shouting something, but one of the watching girls had actually screamed, drowning out his words. Sansa stepped forward, heart beating hard in her ears as she outstretched her hands to grab his arm.

 

But suddenly Margaery was tripping backwards onto the floor as Joffrey stumbled away from her. Sandor was suddenly standing between them, his back blocking her view of Joff, arms hanging at his side and fists clenched.

 

The high pitched blast of a whistle jolted through her ears, and Sansa stumbled back a few paces. Margaery was picking herself up off the floor, her mouth a pink-lipsticked circle as she gaped at Joffrey a few feet away. Her pencil case had burst open on the floor, the brightly-colored contents scattered around her feet. Mr. Meadows had planted himself between the two boys, whistle hanging out of his mouth and hands extended like a referee.

 

“Enough! All of you, you’re coming with me to the office.” The whistle swung around his neck as he turned to Margaery, who had shakily bent to pick up her spilled things, although he held his stiff pose between Sandor and Joffrey. “Are you alright, young lady?”

 

“I think-”

  
  


“I’m not going anywhere!” Joffrey’s face had resumed its usual coloring, although his ears continued to glow red. He pointed at Sandor. “It was him, he pushed her, my girlfriend, he knocked her down and-”

 

“I’m not your girlfriend!” Margaery shrilled, straightening with her hands full of highlighters. “And it was you who-”

 

Another blast of the whistle cut them off, and Meadow's voice filled the hallway when he let it drop out of his mouth again. “I said enough! You-” He pointed at the gaggle of students, half trickling out into the hallway and watching raptly. “Changing rooms, now!” Mrs. Hardon had come out to see what the noise was about, pristine in her white shorts and shirt, and she echoed Meadow’s command, the students reluctantly turning away. “And you-” Mr Meadows pointed around at them, a strangely commanding squat figure, “-all of you are coming with me.”

 

“But-”

 

“Yes, that means you too Miss Stark.”

 

She shut her mouth, looking over at Sandor, but he was scowling at the floor, his short lived cheer having long faded.

 

“All of you- march!”


End file.
